#and had to hard stop that train of thought

[stuckyslut8]

Soft and sensitive

Drabble.

Pairing : Thunderbolts Bucky x reader.

A/N: this is for my big boobed girlies, we deserve this for all the struggles we go through in life 🥹 . But anyone can read it, "big" is subjective.

Minors DNI .

Bucky loved your boobs, he was not just enamored by the size , the first time he touched em he said he couldn't believe how soft they were. "So soft babygirl" "did you think they were gonna be hard?" "No but not this soft." But boy did he worship em . He loved holding them with his flesh arm, "jeez this is heavy heavy pretty girl, how do you carry them everywhere." , "that's what I've been thinking my whole life." , "so big and soft " he'd kiss each of 'em goodnight.

"do you have a favourite?" You'd ask just to tease him. "Oh no sweets, you can't aske to choose, they're both my favourite." , "sure ,but there has to be one you'd slightly prefer more?" , "no they're both pretty and perfect." , "but I think my right boob is bigger." "Bigger isn't always better doll. " " Ohh really then why is your dick the best I've ever had?" "Oh hehe it is ,isn't it? , but it's different with dicks sweetheart." You're never gonna get the answer Outta him, might as well give up. He always gives equal attention to both of your boobs, you could never tell, each of them feel just as sticky when he's done sucking on them.

He loves putting them in his mouth, when he was off missions when no one was looking you'd either be in his lap on the couch, your tshirt pulled up and your bra completely discarded, one your your nipples would be in his mouth. One of the teammates has walked in on this atleast once. He was very anxious that day you thought you'd calm him down by letting him so that, so you just got on his lap , unbuttoned your PJ's top you weren't wearing a bra, you just put it in his mouth, "shh suck on em baby." He obeyed without a second thought,.days like these Bucky just wanted to be told what to do, he didn't wanna think. He he sucked your nipple, slowly, occasionally he'd let me out with a pop, moving to your underboob biting it lightly, your one hand tangled in his hair the other going over his back soothingly. "You guys are disgusting." Walker said as he came to the living room to retrieve his phone, he didn't comment further just left, it wasn't his first time walking in on you both. Bucky didn't even bother stopping what he was doing his face was long buried in your chest, humming in appreciation of what he had.

Other days bucky would just lay on top of you, in the comfort of your room, you both had separate rooms in the tower, but Bucky spent most of his waking and sleeping hours in here , "you're place is just more comfortable sweets" , Yelena would tease him about it sometimes, "you know you have your own room barnes" she'd say. "No just let him stay in hers, i don't wanna see what I saw the other day in the living room" walker commented.

" or the training room" Ava added. "Or the kitchen." Bob said nervously "sorry guys I came in to do the dishes and well you were uh, I don't think we should eat on the counter again ever ." But bcuky would eat you out there everyday if he could, but he understood he had to be more careful about messing around from then. He didn't want anyone else looking at his sweet pussy, or those precious goods (that's what he called your boobs at times).

You were grateful atleast Alexei never walked in on you, just then he spoke up , "heard time going at it, in the parking lot the other day, mr.soldier has a lot of stamina, it's the super soldier serum, uhh I used to be like that with Melina, uhh young love." " Dad stop it I don't wanna hear about your sex life with mom ". Yelena said in disgust.

[woniwontons]

dead end - CHAPTER THREE

bob reynolds x therapist!reader

summary: after being assigned to monitor bob reynolds’ recovery inside the new avengers tower, you try to keep your fears hidden. but between quiet training sessions and unsettling therapy logs, you start to realize he’s watching you more than he should—and that something inside him never stops whispering.

w.c: 3.7k

warnings: abuse by parent, psychological thriller, inaccurately depicted mental illness, emotional manipulation (by void), nightmares, slow burn, possessive themes, combat violence, unreliable realities, hallucinations, brief mention of suicidal thoughts (not reader's), domestic bob, gore/bloody void, like a lot of blood & violence

chapter nav: one | two | three | four (coming soon)

⋆｡°✩⋆｡°｡⋆

You weren't supposed to be in Dr. Harding's office.

The door had been left ajar, just slightly. But something more than just curiosity consumed you, filling your impulses with walking inside.

"Dr. Harding?" you said quietly with a soft knock on the door.

No one.

The office was sterile, as always. White walls. Sleek silver fixtures. No personal items. No scent or warmth. Just the sound of the air vent and the soft click of the wall clock.

Then you noticed the screen on her tablet which was left open on the desk.

Still active, as if she had only stepped out for a moment.

It was a biometric scan. Heart rate, neural activity, baseline data.

The subject ID was redacted. But the image attached wasn’t.

It was you.

"What the hell is going on?" Nothing made sense anymore, but the pieces were starting to come together. This new assignment was so much more than it seemed.

Your breath caught as you leaned in slowly, squinting your eyes in disbelief. There were notes below the scan -- coded abbreviations, but none of them you were able to recognize from previous research.

And one highlighted phrase:

Subject displays high tolerance to --

"Dr. Charles! How was your conference?"

Hearing her voice down the hall nearly sent you into cardiac arrest as you scrambled away from the desk. "Shit," you whispered crudely, smoothing out your lab coat before sliding out of the office door. Rushing down the corridor towards your sleeping quarters.

And not a single human eye caught the sight of it.

You couldn't sleep at all that night.

Your stomach felt as though it were doing backflips in your gut, concave from not being able to eat all day.

You rolled over in bed for the fourth time, staring at the wall where your reflection barely showed in the dark glass. The silence was heavy. Not peaceful.

Just full.

Of things unsaid and dreams you refused to have.

You ran your fingers through your hair and sighed, pushing the blanket aside. Sleep was out of reach, but rest felt impossible too. It wasn’t just your body that was tense—it was your mind. Your thoughts. That strange hum behind your ribs you’d started to recognize as something other than your own.

Eventually, you gave in.

You padded barefoot to the bathroom and turned on the shower, letting the hot water fill the room with fog. The sound drowned out the silence in your head for a little while.

You stepped in and stood still beneath the stream for a long time, letting it sting your shoulders. When you finally reached for the shampoo, your hands shook slightly.

As water ran down your scalp and face, something that had seeped in under your skin. The scent of your body wash filled the space, eucalyptus and chamomile. It should have been comforting. But the heat on your scalp only made you feel more aware of yourself. Of your body. Of the fact that you didn't feel alone, even when you were.

When you stepped out, towel wrapped tightly around you, the mirror was already fogged.

You wiped your palm across the glass.

And then, just for a moment, you saw it.

A reflection that wasn’t yours.

It flickered at the edge of the mirror—his shape. His shadow. Gold eyes where yours should have been.

You blinked, and it was gone. But your skin was still cold where he’d touched your arm in that attic dream.

You looked down. Nothing there.

No bruises. No marks.

But you felt it.

The presence.

Your hands shakily reached out for the knob of your sink, glancing down as you shut it.

c o m e t o m e

The letter spelled out on the mirror in cast shadows had struck you motionless. You stood frozen, your breath catching sharp in your throat. The room suddenly felt colder, like the air had been pulled out and replaced with something heavier. Thicker. Pressed close to your skin.

You stepped forward slowly, unsure why. Instinct told you to back away. Logic screamed to dismiss it as a stress hallucination.

But part of you didn’t want to.

Part of you was listening.

You reached out and pressed your fingertips to the glass. The words didn’t smear. Didn’t fog.

They just stared back at you.

You blinked. It was gone.

A hard swallow makes its way down your throat. "Leave me alone, let me sleep," you begged, "I can't handle this forever."

You jerked your hand back and turned away from the mirror, suddenly aware of how alone you were. How watched.

You tried to breathe evenly, to quiet the rising panic.

You didn’t look back. After drying your hands and turning off the light, you walked out of the bathroom like you hadn’t just seen a ghost.

Hunger hit you again, plaguing you for your decision to skip dinner that night. A sigh of resignation escaped you as you slid your clothing and slippers on. Any leftover fruits inside the cafeteria kitchens would have to suffice for tonight.

Peaking side to side in the dimly lit hallway outside your door, heart still racing from your recent encounter, you quietly closed your door behind you.

The hallways were still, lit only by the pale emergency lights that hung overhead. You hadn’t planned on leaving your sleeping quarters, but the pangs of hunger wouldn't settle long enough to be able to sleep.

However, you hadn't expected the kitchen lights to be on. You half expected to grab something from the leftover tray and leave unnoticed.

You paused just inside the doorway, head tilting.

Behind the counter, sleeves rolled up, brow furrowed in concentration, stood Bob.

A pan sizzled in front of him, and a bag of sliced cheese sat half-opened on the counter. You watched as he meticulously layered a slice of cheddar over the bread already crisping in butter.

It was so disarming to watch him outside of his normal environment of doom and gloom. To see him at such peace all alone.

"I guess we're all trespassing today?” you called softly.

Bob startled, nearly dropping his spatula before turning quickly in your direction. He blinked at you, caught mid-sandwich flip.

“I could ask you the same thing,” he replied after a beat, voice low and warm. “Late-night for you?”

“Just starving,” you shrugged. “Didn’t know you were an overnight chef.”

He gestured toward the stove. "Well you get really good at making greasy food when you've worked at every fast food chain that'd hire you."

You walked up to the counter and leaned on it. “That smells really good though."

He smiled at you sheepishly, and your heart melted a bit at how sweet it looked when that smile was for you. “I can make another.”

You raised a brow. “You offering?”

He was already reaching for more bread. “Well since you've made the idea so tempting...”

You sat on a stool across from him, arms resting on the counter. “So this is your rebellious streak? Ditching security to make grilled cheeses at midnight?”

Bob glanced at the door, then back at you. “They won’t find me for another five minutes. I timed it.”

You narrowed your eyes. “Seriously?”

“I’ve been testing their rounds for weeks. Figured out the weak spot on Thursdays.” He gave you a little shrug. “Sometimes I just want to feel normal. Get hungry. Make something. Sit somewhere that doesn’t beep at me."

Your smile faded at the edges, softened by the truth in his voice.

“You do this often?”

“Only when I can’t sleep.” He finished buttering your sandwich and dropped it into the pan beside his. “Which is most nights.”

You wondered where else he snuck off to at night.

You quietly watched him cook with your chin in your hand, leaned against the counter with your elbow. He took his time despite making something so simple, making sure he buttered both sides. Sprinkled parmesan over the top for an extra crisp. It struck then you how much of his life must have been spent feeling watched. Or worse, restrained.

He slid your sandwich onto a plate and set it in front of you with a proud smile.

“Try it. I dare you to say it’s not the best grilled cheese you've eaten past bedtime.”

You took a bite.

It was the best grilled cheese you've probably ever had.

He waited, eyebrows raised.

“Okay,” you said through a mouthful, “I hate to admit it, but your sneaky midnight grilled cheese is really good."

He grinned and took a bite of his own, mumbling, “At least you know why I go through so much effort to come down here.”

You both ate in comfortable silence for a few moments, the kind that doesn’t need filling. You glanced at him between bites, watching how he smiled after each mouthful, how he seemed so… human right now.

No glowing eyes. No flickering hands. No Void.

Just a guy, maybe a friend sitting across from you. You couldn't imagine how scared you were of him before when you felt so weirdly close to him now.

“What’s it like?” you asked gently. “Being in control one minute… and not the next?”

He raised his eyebrow at you questionably before you realized your mistake.

"Off the record, of course. No clipboard, see?" you explained quickly, holding up your free hand as you took another bite of your sandwich.

Bob set his sandwich down slowly, eyes on the plate.

“Like I’m renting space in my own head,” he said. “Most days, I can push him into the corner. Pretend he’s not there. But he’s always listening. Always waiting. And when people look at me, I can tell they’re waiting for him appear too."

You didn’t respond right away.

“I don’t think that’s what I see anymore,” you said quietly.

Bob looked up at you through his lashes, confused and surprised at once. It made you feel warm and guilty all at once.

"I like the guy in front of me, Bob seems like a really cool person."

His throat bobbed, but he didn’t speak at first. Then, softly, “Thank you.”

You both fell silent again, this time heavier. Not awkward, just full.

He didn’t finish his sandwich.

Just left the last bite on the plate as footsteps echoed in the hallways behind him. When the cafeteria doors hissed open behind you, neither of you moved right away.

Two security agents entered, frowning the moment they spotted him.

“Mr. Reynolds,” one said firmly. “Time to return.”

Bob sighed and stood, brushing the crumbs off his hands. “Knew I was cutting it close.”

He looked at you as he turned to leave. "It was nice talking to you, off the record."

You gave him a smile, even if it wobbled a little. “Make me another grilled cheese sometime.”

His grin was soft, and this time, sad. “I can arrange that. Thank you for coming and joining me."

He left quietly, flanked by his silent escort.

You sat alone at the counter, staring down at the half-eaten sandwich he left behind.

That single, untouched corner.

And something in your chest twisted with guilt and something deeper.

You didn’t know what scared you more:

The Void that became him and haunted your dreams.

Or the good patient you found yourself so attracted to.

You didn't have any dreams that night.

ANONYMOUS POV

Transcript Log | INTERNAL FILE [REDACTED] Access Level: TOP SECRET - NEED TO KNOW Date: [REDACTED] Location: Off-site - Audio Transcript Only

Scientist 1: The subject isn’t reporting ▇▇ ▇▇▇▇.

Scientist 2: ▇▇ ▇▇▇▇. ▇▇▇▇ to display ▇▇▇ signs ▇▇ disobedience as ▇▇ others.

Scientist 1: Then she’s further along than expected. We haven’t even introduced ▇▇ ▇▇▇▇▇▇t yet.

Scientist 2: ▇▇ ▇oid’s adapting. Faster than the ▇▇▇▇▇▇▇▇ ▇▇ model projected.

Scientist 1: That’s not supposed to be possible. It’s not supposed to form preference.

Scientist 2: Then explain the new side effect.

Scientist 2: “Come to me.” We wouldn't be able to see it if it was her hallucination. It was spatially reactive. Infrared resonance picked it up for six seconds before it dissipated.

Scientist 1: …It’s communicating directly in reality?

Scientist 2: Or claiming ▇▇▇▇.

Scientist 1: Then we’re running out of time. If Reynolds becomes aware of the ▇▇▇▇, or worse, ▇▇▇▇ finds out. The whole operation is blown.

Scientist 2: We'll shut it down soon.

Scientist 1: Meaning her?

Scientist 2: ▇▇▇▇ ▇▇ ▇▇▇▇.

Scientist 1: ▇▇ ▇▇ think ▇▇ the ▇▇▇▇?

Scientist 1: ▇▇ her ▇▇▇. But initiate passive ▇▇ testing.

Scientist 2: Copy. We’ll see how far she can get before we inevitably have to find a replacement again.

End of File

Dr. Harding was already waiting for you when you entered the hallway outside the therapy wing.

Her posture was perfectly composed, one hand gripping a tablet, the other loosely tapping a pen against her palm. She smiled when she saw you, but there was no warmth in it. Just courtesy.

“Morning,” she said. “You slept well?”

You nodded automatically, though you weren’t sure if you had. Your dreamless nights felt emptier now, instead of the relief you should feel. Something about your nights had become harder to measure.

Harding didn’t wait for an answer anyway. She clicked something on her screen and walked ahead, expecting you to follow.

But halfway to the session room, she slowed—just a little—and said:

“If you start to feel... weird, I want you to say something.”

You frowned. “Weird?”

Harding glanced at you from over her shoulder, eyes cool. “Cognitively. Emotionally. Things can blur when we’re in long-term exposure to unknown powers, especially with patients like Reynolds.”

You narrowed your eyes slightly. “You think I’m going to get effected by his presence?"

She stopped, turned. “Not yet.”

“But everyone reaches their threshold eventually.”

She smiled again, as if she hadn’t just implied the strangest thing.

Then she turned and keyed the door open without another word.

Bob was already seated on the mat.

His eyes lifted as you entered, immediately landing on you, not looking in Harding's direction. He didn’t smile, but he didn’t look away either. You followed Harding to the observation chair and sat, clipboard in hand, pen uncapped but still.

Bob’s hands rested on his knees, eyes neutral as Harding began the session with her usual line of sterile questioning.

“Any changes in suicidal ideation?” “Any intrusive thoughts or impulses?”

Bob answered calmly, giving the perfect answer for each one.

You wrote the words down, but they felt less real than the pen in your hand.

When Harding asked a follow-up question about emotional suppression, Bob didn’t respond immediately. He just looked at you again, quietly. Like he wanted to say something else.

And then Harding’s comm buzzed at her hip.

She huffed, checked it, and stood.

“Emergency from the upper psych wing,” she muttered. “I’ll be back shortly.”

And then she was gone.

The door sealed behind her with a sound that echoed.

Bob’s shoulders dropped almost instantly. A breath left him like a valve finally released. “She always make people feel like they're being dissected alive?” he asked.

You gave a faint, knowing smile. “Something like that.”

Bob stretched his legs out slightly, his posture loosening into something more natural. Still guarded, but no longer braced for impact.

“I don’t think she likes when I talk too much,” he added.

You hesitated, then asked: “Has she always been your lead psychologist?”

“Yes and no,” he said, eyes drifting upward to the mirror on the far wall. “I would see her before, but I had a rotation of different psychologist. But after the last assistant left, it's just Harding now.”

That made you pause. “Left?”

Bob glanced at you. “There were a few before you, but they didn’t last long,” he continued. “The last one, she actually started getting sick. Headaches, panic attacks, you name it. Like her brain was shutting itself off."

You didn’t speak. Your fingers twitched against the edge of your clipboard.

“They said it was stress. Too much exposure to the shadows, from before I could control it better.” He tilted his head. “I didn't think she was that afraid of me though. All the assistants before her had similar symptoms, but nothing nearly as bad.”

Your throat felt dry. Images of your face on Harding's tablet flashed in your mind as you started to think paranoid thoughts.

Bob looked at you, eyes darker than before. “You don’t feel sick, do you?”

You shook your head. Slowly.

“That's good,” he said, "the last thing I'd ever want is to hurt someone else again. Especially you."

The stillness inside you was too heavy to push back. "I don't think you're the one causing it," you whispered, so quietly you barely exhausted an entire breath.

Bob leaned forward slightly. “Who else could be causing it?"

You raised your finger to your lips, urging him to be quieter. Glancing at the observation room to ensure it was empty.

Bob’s expression changed, something knowing, something careful.

“You think they’re doing this on purpose?” he whispered.

You couldn’t breathe for a moment, but you nodded your head, pretending to write down notes for the camera. Your pen scratched softly across the page. You weren’t writing words. Just shapes.

Circles.

"I don't know exact what's going on, but I know I'm the subject of some kind of test they're running. I saw it on Harding's tablet," you revealed, wringing your hands together in stress.

Bob's face darkened with confusion and annoyance. "What?"

A short laugh escaped you as you adjusted on your seat, throwing you ankle over the other. "I can't believe I'm even telling you this, but I think you're the only person I trust right now."

"The others have to know something, you should speak to Bucky or Yelena, they'll tell you the truth," he said earnestly, "I just can't believe they didn't tell me if they do know."

You nodded before checking your tablet, faking the responses to the questions you were supposed to ask him.

Shadows flickered on around Bob's seated figure and his fingertips as he sat in contemplation, wondering where everything went wrong. Wishing he had met such a beautiful, kind person in different circumstances than this one.

But in his presence, everything always went wrong.

"Bob?"

He settled, looking up at you. "Yes?"

"Thank you for talking with me, but we should wrap this up before someone notices how much time has passed."

"Anything for a friend."

In Your Nightmares

You were running, but the hallway wouldn’t end.

Steel walls. Fluorescent lights overhead, flickering like dying stars. Every door you passed was marked with your name. Over and over again:

SUBJECT: Y/L/N STATUS: FAILURE IMMINENT

You tried to scream but sound wouldn't escape from your mouth. All you could hear was the thoughts inside your own head crying out for help. You didn't even know what you were running from, only that it wasn’t very far behind.

Each door you had tried was locked, twisting just a centimeter before clicking in resistance as you dragged the skin of your palm around the knob.

The floor shifted then.

You fell—hard—into a room that wasn’t there a moment ago. The tiles turned to concrete. Wet. Dark. Sticky with blood. You scrambled to your feet, but your hand slipped in something warm. A sound echoed through the space—something like wet breathing. Something like chewing.

And then you saw it.

Yourself.

Not a mirror image, a second you in the room. Face slashed with tears, skin gray and twitching. She wore your clothes, but they were soaked in black. Her mouth opened too wide, face sunken in too deeply.

She lunged at you with impossible speed.

You fought back on instinct, elbowing her face, feeling bone crunch beneath your palm. Blood splattered your arms. Her fingers clawed at your face, your throat, her eyes wide and weeping as she screamed in your own voice.

"Please, please," she cried in agony, attempting her best to overpower your resistance.

You slammed her to the ground, but she twisted with monstrous strength, flipping you onto your back. Concrete met your skull with a thunderclap.

CRACK.

Your vision exploded in white.

You tasted blood as your head opened to a splitting ache.

She grabbed your hair at the root, squeezing tightly as she slammed your head down again.

CRACK.

Again.

CRACK.

Again. Again. Again.

Your scream tore free, raw and useless. It was all you could think or hear was to wail in pain. You felt the warmth of it spilling from your nose, your mouth, your ears. Your elbows slipping in the gore pooling beneath you each time you attempted to push back.

And just as your fingers lost their strength, just as the edges of your mind began to slip, he appeared as your second self stopped.

He emerged from the wall behind your double, blacker than anything your eyes could process. As if it was so dark, it could not reflect any light. Gold eyes gleamed like lit oil beneath water, searing into your bones as his presence pulled the air from your lungs.

Your copy stilled, her last look as hollow stare, then crumbled.

Her body peeled away like smoke, revealing you. Just you. Broken. Drenched in blood.

You lay there, staring up at him, ribs heaving. Vision swimming and your lids dipping slowly.

He crouched beside you, head tilted with something like admiration.

“I am the inevitable horrid truth of everything, little one,” he said, voice silk and rot at once. “I am where everything goes to die, I am the end of all lies.”

His fingers brushed your jaw. Gentle. Reverent. “It’s no wonder I scare you so…” His mouth moved closer to your ear, gold eyes never blinking, “little lying goddess mine.”

You whimpered, barely conscious.

Coming to a kneel, his bloodied finger tips continued past your jaw until it touched the side of your neck. His hand pushed lightly onto your throat until the connection between his pointer and thumb hit your esophagus. "Perfect," he whispered, caressing smeared stains of blood down the length of your throat with the gentle pad of his thumb.

You couldn't summon the strength to move or speak.

Blink. Open. Blink. Open.

Then he smiled, "Wake up."

Blink. Closed.

This slow burn train is starting to pick up speed here, huh? This chapter was hard to write for me, but it was necessary for what is about to hit the fan in the next chapter. I hope you all enjoyed how this one ended, a little twisted but sweet.

Also, I must give credit here! The quote said by The Void in this chapter: "I am the inevitable horrid truth of everything, little one. I am where everything goes to die. I am the end of all lies." This quote is one written in the comics for Sentry, and something that really inspired the vision for this chapter's ending! The quote can be found in "Doctor Strange Vol 1 #385" written by Donny Cates.

ALSO: if you are not currently on the taglist, please comment down below if you want to be! if you already commented on chapter 1 or 2, don't worry because i've already added you :)

link to chapter four (coming soon)

[leriexoxo]

Muscle Memory

Trainer! Changbin x Reader

Tags: Gym AU, Explicit sexual content (oral, penetrative sex, multiple positions), Size kink and light dom/sub dynamics, Sexual teasing and public tension, Soft aftercare and comfort, Strong language, Adults only (18+)

Word count: 4.9k

Summary: Your gym crush? He’s your instructor—disciplined, insanely hot, and definitely off-limits. But you? You’ve had enough of limits. After weeks of teasing him with suggestive workouts and tighter-than-necessary gymwear, you finally push him past his breaking point… and what starts as heat turns into something deeper, something raw. Changbin never meant to catch feelings. You never meant to fall this hard. But now neither of you can pretend this isn’t real.

This work contains mature themes, MINORS DO NOT INTERACT!!

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

You never used to be this consistent with gym routines.

But that was before he started leading the Thursday classes.

Bang Chan’s new hire.

“Seo Changbin—he’ll be taking over strength and mobility.”

You’d walked in that first day wearing your usual set, nothing special—only to lock eyes with him across the mat and feel your whole existence shift three inches left. You swore something chemical detonated in your chest. He was all muscle and deep voice and focused gaze—too built for his own good, arms like stone and veins that looked like they pulsed to the beat of whatever filthy thoughts you shouldn’t be thinking.

You came back the next week. Then the one after that. Then it became a problem.

Because Seo Changbin didn’t just exist in your peripheral anymore.

He started noticing you too.

It was subtle at first. A glance too long. A correction that required both hands. His fingers curling around your waist to fix your form—lingering just enough to make your breath catch. His knee brushing yours when he knelt beside you. The edge in his voice when he said your name. You’d tease it out more with each session: a tighter crop top, a lower squat, a stretch that had you folding forward right in his line of sight.

And today?

You wore the set that always made you feel dangerous—black ribbed leggings, high compression, no underwear. And the top, god. Low-cut. Almost unfair.

You knew he saw it the moment you walked in.

He stumbled over his own cue mid-demo.

Coughed. Regathered.

Didn’t look you in the eye when you passed him your water bottle during cooldown.

You held your plank longer than anyone. Made sure your back arched just a little when you stretched into cat-cow.

And he broke. You felt it.

His gaze burned holes into your skin from across the room.

You caught him after class—cornered him while he was wiping sweat from his face with the towel draped around his neck, all flushed cheeks and heaving chest, pretending he hadn’t just gotten half-hard from watching you do yoga.

“Changbin,” you said sweetly.

He turned, caught mid-sip from his water bottle. “Yeah?”

“I think you missed one of my poses during cooldown,” you murmured, tilting your head. “Didn’t correct my form like usual.”

His throat moved. Slowly. He was staring at your mouth.

“You didn’t need it,” he said, a little too hoarse.

“Oh,” you smiled. “But I kinda like when you touch me.”

You watched his jaw clench.

His hand tightened around the bottle.

And then—just like that—he bolted. Some half-mumbled excuse about helping Chan with a form check. You let him go. Smirking.

He was losing it.

And you were going to break him.

⸻

You didn’t see Changbin for a week after that.

Not because he disappeared—no, you still spotted him in passing, training other members, talking to Chan, running laps on the treadmill like he wasn’t dragging a whole damn forest fire behind his eyes. But he was avoiding you. And not well.

You’d walk into the studio and watch him tense. He stopped correcting your form altogether. Didn’t look at you during the warm-up, barely nodded when you asked questions. But when you caught him off guard—mid-rep, distracted—his gaze would drift. Drop.

To your thighs. Your waist. Your chest.

Your mouth.

And then he’d flinch, like he was pissed at himself for noticing, and turn away again.

So by the next session, you decided to push him just a little harder.

You started your little game during hip bridges. On your back, knees bent, slow thrusts up and down with your glutes tight, core flexed. You knew exactly what you looked like, and you weren’t the only one.

You peeked mid-set and caught him flat-out staring, towel hanging limp in his hands. His lips parted, eyes locked on the subtle curve of your inner thighs.

When your gaze met his, he didn’t even try to play it off this time.

You gave him a look—playful, biting—and rolled your hips once more, slower this time. His jaw flexed. You swore you heard him mutter something under his breath and saw him adjust himself behind the clipboard he held like a shield.

You nearly lost your rhythm from how hard you wanted to laugh.

Gotcha.

After class, you lingered. You stayed longer than usual, stretched slower, until everyone else cleared out—except him. You moved into a split pose by the mirrors, your back arched, hands on your hips, breathing steady but thick with anticipation. His footsteps crept closer behind you, and you didn’t even have to look up to know he was standing there.

Watching.

“You do that shit on purpose,” his voice rumbled low, right behind you.

Your heart skipped.

“Do what?” you asked, playing innocent.

“You know exactly what,” he said, more growl than sentence now.

You rose slowly, turning to face him. Your eyes flicked down—yep, hard again. Straining under his shorts, thick and clearly not small. Your mouth went dry for a second.

“I thought instructors were supposed to keep their cool,” you teased, dragging your fingers up your side.

Changbin didn’t laugh. He didn’t move either.

Instead, he looked down at you like he was wrestling with a hundred demons. Like one word from you could snap something he’d been barely holding together.

“You think I don’t notice?” he said tightly. “You think I don’t see what you’re trying to do to me?”

“I’m not trying to do anything to you,” you said, stepping closer—until your chest almost brushed his. “But if I was…”

His breath hitched.

“I’m sure you wouldn’t mind.”

You watched him freeze, expression unreadable, muscles flexed like he was holding back an earthquake.

Then you brushed past him. Slowly. Casually.

Walked straight toward the exit.

And didn’t look back.

⸻

You weren’t trying to be obvious.

Okay, maybe you were.

But in your defense—how was anyone supposed to ignore someone like Changbin? The man was a walking wet dream, and worse, he was professional about it. Always respectful, always focused, never even hinting at the amount of muscle he was packing under those damn black compression shirts. He kept his distance, barely let his eyes wander, and never responded when you pushed a little too far.

Which only made you want to break him more.

You continued teasing with the workouts, of course. Suggestive stretches. Innocent questions delivered with loaded looks. Maybe a few accidental moans during squats. You thought for sure he’d snap eventually—but no. Changbin was frustratingly composed. Unshakable. Even when he adjusted your posture with those big warm hands and his breath brushed your cheek, he stayed cool.

Until that Friday evening.

The gym had just closed early for a maintenance update, and you’d lingered too long in the locker room, scrolling your phone, procrastinating your walk home. When you finally stepped out—hoodie slung low, gym bag over your shoulder—you nearly ran into him.

Changbin.

He looked surprised to see you, hand halfway in his jacket pocket, keys dangling from his fingers.

“You’re still here?” he asked, brow lifting.

“Didn’t realize it was that late,” you smiled, a little breathless. “Were you waiting for me?”

He blinked. “No. I just—”

“Because if you were,” you stepped closer, grinning, “that’s kinda hot.”

His jaw clenched. “I wasn’t.”

You tilted your head. “Want to walk me home?”

He hesitated. For a heartbeat, you thought you’d pushed too far—but then he exhaled, raking a hand through his hair.

“Yeah. Alright.”

The walk was quiet at first. Evening breeze curling under your hoodie, city lights flickering on like a slow wave. You made small talk—asked him about his playlist, his leg day routine, whether he actually enjoyed yelling “two more reps” when he knew damn well your legs were jelly. He loosened up a little. Even laughed.

But the tension still buzzed between you—thick and electric. Every time your fingers brushed. Every time you stepped too close. Every time his gaze dropped to your lips and snapped back up like he’d caught himself mid-sin.

“So,” you said as you reached your block, “are you always this responsible?”

“What do you mean?”

You grinned. “Keeping it professional. Saying no to hot gym girls.”

He blinked, clearly caught off guard.

“I didn’t say no.”

That got your attention. “Didn’t you?”

“I’ve just been…” he trailed off, then looked at you with something unreadable. “Trying not to be stupid.”

You stepped closer. Your building loomed behind you, quiet and still, but you barely noticed it.

“I want you to be a little stupid.”

His breath hitched. His knuckles went white where they gripped his keys.

“You don’t know what you’re asking for.”

“Sure I do,” you said softly, leaning in. “I’ve been asking for it since my third session.”

He looked down at you like he was about to cave. Like whatever dam he’d built inside himself was starting to crack.

But instead, he stepped back.

“Go inside,” he said roughly.

Then he turned and walked off, fists clenched at his sides, like he was the one being hunted.

And you?

You stood there grinning like a devil.

Because that crack?

It was getting wider.

—

The next session at the gym? you definitely wore that set for him.

The leggings—barely opaque, clinging to your ass like paint. The sports bra—one size too small, stretching high on your ribs and lifting your chest with every breath. Even the perfume—light, sweet, just enough to linger when you walked by.

It was his shift today, and you came for the kill.

You caught him watching you twice.

Once during warm-ups, when you sank into a wide downward dog in front of the mirrors, your back arched, ass high. He was across the room, talking to someone else—but his eyes found you. They always did. And when they did, they lingered.

The second time was during leg presses. You moaned. Quietly. Maybe too quietly to be real—but loud enough to make him glance up like he felt it in his spine. His jaw ticked. His eyes darkened. His clipboard creaked under his grip.

You smiled through every rep.

By the time the gym started emptying out, you knew you’d won.

He looked like he was hanging by a thread.

You “forgot” your water bottle. Let the staff clear out. Hid in the dim back hallway until the door buzzed shut behind the last person.

The lights were low. The music off. The building locked.

And you knew where Changbin went after a long shift.

You padded barefoot down the hallway to the men’s locker room, bag slung over your shoulder, heart pounding with a wicked rhythm. You heard the water first—showers hissing in the tiled silence. Then the sound of movement. Low, steady breathing. Wet footsteps. A door clanking shut.

You pushed the door open like a sinner entering church. Steam rolled into your face.

The locker room door creaked shut behind you.

You paused for a second—breath steady, heartbeat not so much—and listened. The showers were still running, muffled by steam and tile. You followed the sound, bare feet padded soft against the concrete floor, body already thrumming with heat from everything that led to this.

Every stretch. Every flirt. Every smirk you threw across the gym just to see his jaw tighten. You wore that stupidly tight set on purpose. Bent over right in front of him when he was mid-set, made eye contact while you licked sweat from your upper lip like a fucking sin.

You’d been playing with fire.

And you came here to burn.

The fog hung heavy in the air, humid and warm. You stepped around the corner, and there he was—Changbin. Alone. Water streaming down his body, steam clinging to his skin, muscles taut and gleaming. Head tilted back, eyes closed, hands braced against the wall.

You took a breath and said, cool as ever, “Shame you’re wasting all that hot water alone.”

He flinched, turned, and stared. “What the—? What are you—?”

“Locker room was unlocked.” You smiled, slow and wicked. “Not my fault.”

“Jesus Christ,” he muttered, dragging a hand down his face. “You can’t be here.”

You stepped closer anyway. “Why not? Afraid someone might catch us?”

He was silent. Barely breathing.

You tilted your head. “Or afraid you’ll do something if we’re alone?”

His chest rose sharply. His eyes dropped to the tight gym shorts still clinging to your hips. You hadn’t changed. Hadn’t planned to.

“I’m trying to be professional,” he said, voice strained.

“And I’m trying to get fucked,” you countered. “Guess someone needs to lose.”

Something in him cracked—visibly. His hand dropped from the shower wall, and suddenly he was moving—grabbing a towel, wrapping it low around his waist, stomping past you like he needed space to breathe.

You followed.

By the time he reached the bench, you were already behind him, fingers slipping around his waist, palms dragging over his abs. He froze.

“Don’t pretend you haven’t been thinking about it,” you whispered against his shoulder blade. “You stared every damn time I bent over.”

“You did that on purpose.”

You grinned against his skin. “And now I want my reward.”

He turned fast—grabbed you by the waist and shoved you back against the row of lockers. The impact was firm, not rough, and your body sparked with electricity.

“You’re insane,” he breathed.

“Little bit.”

“You’re not even trying to deny it.”

You smirked. “Why would I? Look at you. You’re a walking wet dream.”

He let out a low, wrecked groan and kissed you. It was messy, frenzied, starved. Tongues clashing. Hands fumbling. He shoved your sports bra up, dragged your shorts and underwear down in one go.

“Fuck,” he growled when he looked down at you, already dripping. “You’re serious.”

“I’m wet just from watching you lift weights, Changbin. You have to know what you do to me.”

He shoved the towel off, and your jaw dropped at the sight of him.

“…Holy shit.”

He grinned darkly. “Problem?”

You bit your lip, eyes dragging slowly back up to his face. “Not unless you think I can’t take it.”

He growled—literally—and pushed you down onto the bench. One knee came up beside you, hands firm as he guided you back, lined himself up, and—

“Oh my God—”

He sank into you inch by inch, and you were already gasping, grabbing at his shoulders. He was so big, and it felt like you were being split in the most satisfying way.

“That good already?” he whispered in your ear, voice ragged.

“You’re—fucking huge,” you choked out, hips twitching up. “No wonder you strut around like that.”

He laughed—deep and smug—and started thrusting. Hard, sharp, deliberate strokes that had your back arching off the bench.

“Is this what you wanted?” he panted. “Stretching you like this in the locker room? Anyone could walk in—”

“God, yes—fuck, Changbin—just like that—”

You clung to his shoulders, legs wrapped tight around his waist as he pounded into you. Every inch of him filled you so completely, you could barely think. You loved how much effort he needed just to hold back.

“You’re taking it so well,” he groaned. “I thought I’d have to ease you in.”

“I don’t want slow,” you hissed. “I want to feel it. Every second. Every inch.”

That sent him over the edge.

He hoisted you up mid-thrust—carried you across the locker room like nothing—and sat on the bench with you straddling his lap. Your thighs burned, but you were too far gone to care.

You rode him hard. Fast. His hands gripped your ass, guiding your bounce, groaning your name into your neck while your nails clawed at his shoulders.

“I can’t—fuck—I’m close—”

“Come on, baby,” he urged. “Let me feel it. Show me how good I fuck you.”

You slammed down one last time and shattered, clenching around him with a long, high cry. He cursed loudly and followed, filling you deep with a low, primal growl that echoed off the walls.

You both stayed like that for a minute—sweaty, panting, trembling. Your forehead pressed to his. His arms wrapped tight around your back.

No words. Just breaths. Just heat.

Just muscle memory.

The silence that followed was heavier than anything either of you had lifted in the weight room.

Your body slumped against his, legs still wrapped lazily around his waist. His arms stayed tight around you, lips brushing your temple like he wasn’t ready to let go. Neither were you.

But slowly, eventually, reality started to creep in—sweat cooling on your skin, the faint ache settling in your thighs, the uncomfortable stickiness between your legs.

He shifted first, murmured, “Come on. Let’s get you cleaned up.”

You nodded, dazed, and let him help you up. Your legs buckled the second your feet touched the ground.

He chuckled softly. “Can’t walk?”

“Not when you fuck like that,” you muttered, rolling your hips as you stretched, still feeling him inside you.

He grinned and tugged you toward the showers. Steam was still curling out through the tiled corridor, water still running. He led you into the far stall and switched to a warmer stream, pulling you under it with him.

The water hit your back and you sighed, letting the heat soak into your bones. Changbin reached for the soap, lathering it between his hands before gently running them over your arms, your chest, your waist. His touch was so gentle now—so careful—like he was trying to memorize every curve he’d just ruined.

“You okay?” he asked softly.

You nodded, leaning into him. “Better than okay.”

He smiled, then kissed your forehead.

It should’ve stayed sweet.

It should’ve stayed soft.

But then your eyes dropped.

And you saw it again—him. His cock, still half-hard, thick and glistening, water dripping off the veins that curved along its length. You felt your mouth water instantly.

You didn’t even think.

You dropped to your knees on the wet tile, palms flat against his thighs, and looked up at him through soaked lashes.

“Fuck—wait, are you—”

You licked up his shaft before he could finish the sentence, slow and deliberate.

His head fell back against the tile with a sharp thud. “Shit.”

You smiled around him as you took him deeper, the water streaming down your back, your lips stretched wide. He was still sensitive—his whole body twitched the second your tongue swirled over the tip.

“I—fuck—don’t think I’m gonna last if you—” he hissed when you hollowed your cheeks and bobbed faster. “You’re seriously trying to kill me.”

You pulled off with a pop, gave him a slow stroke with your hand. “You look too good when you’re wrecked.”

He didn’t give you a chance to say anything else.

Changbin hauled you to your feet, spun you around, and slammed you back against the stall wall. Your gasp echoed off the tile, legs already parting in instinct.

“I’m not done with you,” he growled against your ear. “You don’t get to drop to your knees, suck me off, and not pay for it.”

“Then fucking punish me,” you whispered.

And he did.

Bent you forward, one arm braced beside your head while the other gripped your hip hard enough to bruise. He slid into you in one rough thrust, making you cry out against the wall, water crashing over both of you.

“God, you’re tight like this—still dripping—”

You pushed back against him shamelessly, loving the stretch, the heat, the filthy slap of skin-on-skin echoing through the empty locker room.

“You just can’t get enough of me, huh?” you panted. “Is this how you handle distractions at the gym?”

“This is exactly how I handle them,” he groaned, pounding into you harder. “Make them regret teasing me.”

You laughed, breathless and wrecked, as he fucked you through the stream—deep, filthy strokes that had your nails dragging down the tile, your moans bouncing off the walls.

“Faster,” you begged. “Harder. Don’t stop.”

He didn’t. He couldn’t. He gripped your hips, slammed into you with reckless rhythm, and you swore you saw stars when you came again—loud, shattered, toes curling on the slick floor.

Changbin cursed violently and spilled inside you moments later, burying himself to the hilt as his breath shook against your shoulder.

The water kept running.

But neither of you moved. Not for a while.

When you finally turned around, panting and trembling, he looked like he’d just blacked out and come back to life.

You kissed him—softly this time, slow and thankful.

“Still trying to be professional?” you whispered against his lips.

He groaned and pressed his forehead to yours. “Fuck no. You ruined that forever”

You ended up wrapped in a towel that barely stayed up.

Changbin’s towel situation wasn’t much better, especially not with the way you kept teasing him. Every time he looked down at you, water still dripping from your hair, that smug little grin on your lips like you knew he was trying not to stare again—he had to breathe in through his nose and count to ten.

Ten wasn’t enough.

“Stop looking at me like that,” he warned as he dug through his locker for a shirt.

“Like what?” you asked innocently, propping a hip against the bench, your towel sliding dangerously high on one thigh. “I’m just standing here. You’re the one with the visual kink, Coach.”

He groaned. “Don’t call me that. Not when we just—”

“Fucked like animals?”

“—had sex, yes,” he muttered, throwing a spare shirt at your face.

You caught it, laughing. “Wow. Romantic.”

“I’m trying to keep my sanity,” he said, running a hand through his wet hair. “You’ve already taken the rest of my dignity.”

You pulled the oversized shirt over your head, and he swallowed hard when it hit mid-thigh.

“…You okay?” he asked after a beat, tone softening.

You turned toward him, smile fading just a little. “Yeah. I think so.”

“You’re sure?”

You nodded. “I mean… unless you plan on ghosting me now, in which case—”

“I’d rather get crushed under a barbell.”

You laughed again, but it wasn’t the same breathless sound from earlier. It was quieter. A little unsure.

He crossed the space between you slowly. “Hey,” he said gently. “This wasn’t just sex for me. I know I didn’t say it before but—look, I’ve been trying not to touch you for weeks. Every stretch, every move, every tight little outfit you wore just to mess with me…”

You grinned. “You noticed?”

He huffed. “I noticed everything. You walk into my class and suddenly I can’t remember a single routine I planned. I’ve never been that distracted in my life.”

You stepped into him again, looping your arms around his neck, your voice a soft purr. “So now that you’ve had a taste…”

“Don’t tempt me,” he whispered, hands landing on your waist, warm and steady. “I’m barely holding on as it is.”

“Then don’t hold back,” you said simply. “You’ve already ruined me, Binnie.”

The name made his eyes darken instantly.

“Say that again.”

You leaned up to whisper it, your lips brushing his ear. “Binnie.”

He groaned. “You’re evil.”

You smiled. “And you love it.”

—

The problem with sleeping with your gym instructor — was that you still had to see him every day.

And he still had to pretend he wasn’t thinking about bending you over every flat surface in the building.

Which wasn’t easy when you wore that matching black set again—the one that hugged every curve like a second skin—and then bent over during deadlifts like it was your goddamn mission to kill him.

Changbin dropped the dumbbell.

Literally.

“Focus,” his co-instructor muttered from behind him.

Impossible, he thought.

You turned to look at him with the smuggest smile, as if you knew. As if you planned it. That tight smirk, the flick of your ponytail over your shoulder, the sway of your hips back to the mat—you were driving him insane.

And it didn’t help that you texted him at night like this:

you: was thinking about earlier…

you: how you didn’t even take your time with me

you: how fast you bent me over that bench and lost your mind

you: what if i want it slower next time?

He’d read that one five times, alone in his bed, biting the inside of his cheek so hard he tasted blood.

And then came the photo. A mirror selfie in a robe, one hand tucked between your thighs, your eyes daring him.

you: this what you wanted to ruin?

He threw his phone.

Only to scramble and pick it up again because holy fuck he needed to respond.

binnie: come over

binnie: don’t wear anything under that robe

You didn’t.

—

Changbin opened the door like he’d been pacing behind it all night. The second you stepped in, he grabbed you—his kiss rough, desperate, like he’d been holding back way too long. You barely got a word in before your back hit the wall and his mouth was at your neck, growling low:

“You have to stop teasing me at the gym.”

You pulled his shirt over his head, your fingers grazing the ridges of his abs, then up over those delicious, broad pecs.

“Or what?” you whispered.

He squeezed your ass in both hands. “Or I’m gonna fuck you in the weight room next time. Right in front of the damn mirror so you can watch how cockdrunk you get.”

Your breath caught, your knees going weak.

“And don’t give me that look,” he muttered, dragging his mouth across your jaw. “You love making me lose control.”

You laughed, gasping as his thigh slid between yours. “Because you look so hot when you do.”

His hands were on your robe now, tugging it open, letting it pool around your ankles.

“Then lose it with me, Binnie,” you whispered. “Right now.”

He lifted you like nothing, like muscle memory, like he’d done it a thousand times before. Only now, he had you in his arms with no audience, no distractions—just you, dripping wet, moaning into his neck as he carried you to the bedroom and laid you down like you were the heaviest weight he’d ever wanted to lift.

The room was dark, the only light coming from the hallway, but you could still see the way Changbin looked at you—like he couldn’t believe you were real. His lips hovered over your inner thigh, just barely brushing your skin as he whispered something against it.

You didn’t catch it.

“What was that?” you breathed, fingers already twisted in the sheets.

He glanced up at you, a slow smile tugging at his lips. “Said I’m obsessed with the way you taste.”

Your breath hitched. “Then come back up here and show me.”

“Nope,” he murmured, dipping his head again, voice muffled against your skin. “You teased me for weeks. I’m taking my time now.”

And fuck, did he ever.

It wasn’t like the first time—fast, wild, losing control.

This was slow destruction.

He devoured you. Took you apart with his mouth, fingers digging into your thighs to keep you wide open, pulling you to the edge only to let you breathe before dragging you back down into it. He watched you the whole time, eyes dark, curls damp with sweat, lips slick with you as he licked and sucked and praised.

“You’re unreal,” he whispered. “Sweetest thing I’ve ever tasted. How the hell did I survive without this?”

You came twice on his tongue before he finally crawled up your body, kissing your stomach, your ribs, your collarbone.

“Changbin,” you whispered, still trembling. “I—”

“I like you.”

It fell out of him like a breath he’d been holding forever.

You blinked.

His brow furrowed, panicked. “Shit, I mean—if that’s not what this is, I get it. I just—”

You cut him off with a kiss. Gentle. Soft. Way more terrifying than any filthy thing you’d done all night.

“I like you too,” you said quietly. “Been going to that gym for months hoping you’d just look at me.”

“I always looked at you,” he groaned, pressing his forehead to yours. “I thought you were too good for me. I didn’t think I had a chance.”

You smiled, thumb brushing over the curve of his cheek. “You really think I’d wear leggings that tight for anyone?”

He laughed, burying his face in your neck. “Fuck, you’re gonna ruin me.”

You held him close, still dizzy from the aftermath. “So… what now?”

“I take you on a proper date,” he said, suddenly determined. “No gym, no workout clothes, just you and me. Dinner. Maybe a walk. Something soft.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Soft?”

He smirked. “The date. Not what I plan to do to you after.”

Your legs clenched instinctively, and he noticed.

“God, you’re dangerous,” you whispered.

“So are you,” he said, and kissed you again like it was the start of something real.

Because it was.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Authors note: This fic focuses on tension, longing, and the slow shift from lust to something much more intimate. Expect drawn-out build-up, emotional smut, and Changbin absolutely losing his mind over you (in and out of the gym).

If you loved it, please give it a like and comment or even reblog!!! Let me know if you want to be removed or added to the taglist!!

Taglist: @tsunderelino @innieandsungielover @inlovewithstraykids @reignessance @jeonismm @sttnficrecs @herejusttemporary @krssliu @sagestarlight @kenia4 @miilquetoast @thackery-blinks @leeminho-hall @suga-is-bae @butterflydemons @inejghafawifesblog @malunar28replies @minchanlimbo @mal-lunar-28 @breakmeofftbr @itvenorica124 @slut4junho @deepblueocean97 @thequibbie @yaorzu-blog @imagine-all-the-imagines @just-bria @mischievousleeknow @universeyuto @ifyxu @melanctton @thelostprincessofasgard @binniebb @sillylittlecat1 @darkwitchoferie @m-325 @headfirstfortoro @imseungminsgf @ihrtlix @vernorica123 @hwangjoanna @swordswallower2000 @niki007 @yxna-bliss @firelordtsuki

[katnipp]

Can you do a Sophia x reader, where Sophia has been extremely busy over the past months and has been neglecting the reader. It leads to the reader taking her things from the dorm, she also stops contacting Sophia. It took Sophia a while to even notice, because she was so busy.

you didn’t notice— sophia laforteza

genre: ANGST😣

synopsis: after months of being overlooked, y/n quietly walks away. it takes sophia weeks to realize she’s gone—and even longer to face what that means

warnings: break up, emotional neglect, sophia is bad at communication 🙁

—

two months ago

y/n [7:13 pm]: good luck today!! i know you’re probably too busy to reply, but i’m thinking of you. always.

y/n [7:15 pm]: i left some soup in the fridge btw. please eat even if you’re tired. love you

seen two weeks later

⸻

it didn’t hurt all at once.

no, it was quieter than that. the kind of slow unraveling that happened in silences, in missed calls, in the way sophia’s replies went from paragraphs to one-word answers.

y/n didn’t take it personally.

she couldn’t afford to. because if she did, she’d fall apart.

she made excuses for her girlfriend — told herself, it’s just the comeback, she’s just tired, she loves you, even if she hasn’t said it in a while.

but love, when left alone too long, starts to feel like waiting for a train that’s already left.

and sophia had left.

not physically. but in all the ways that mattered.

⸻

three weeks ago

“you really don’t have to do this,” megan said softly, leaning in the doorway as y/n carefully folded the sweatshirt sophia gave her. the grey one with the soft sleeves and the tiny bleach stain on the cuff that she’d once joked looked like a heart.

“i do,” y/n whispered. “i can’t keep living in a place where she forgets i exist.”

megan’s expression twisted. “she doesn’t—”

“she hasn’t said i love you in over a month, megan.”

megan said nothing.

“i leave food. i text. i wait up. and she doesn’t even ask me if i’ve eaten anymore. not even that.”

y/n’s voice cracked on the last part, quiet and sharp. like something inside her had finally caved in.

“i don’t hate her,” she said. “i just… don’t think she sees me anymore.”

“are you going to tell her you’re leaving?”

y/n blinked down at the folded hoodie. her silence was answer enough.

⸻

one week ago

sophia sat in the van, eyelids heavy, makeup smudged under her eyes. the world was noise and flashbulbs and schedules and movement, always movement.

“where’s y/n?” she asked suddenly, half-asleep.

the other members blinked.

“what do you mean?” megan asked, voice cautious.

“she hasn’t answered my messages. did i do something wrong?”

megan glanced out the window. “you didn’t even notice she was gone?”

sophia sat up straighter. “what do you mean, gone?”

megan didn’t say anything for a moment. then: “she moved out. like, three weeks ago.”

the car filled with silence.

“why didn’t anyone tell me?”

“you didn’t ask.”

⸻

present day

when sophia knocked on the door of y/n’s new apartment, she wasn’t sure what she expected.

she hadn’t rehearsed anything. all she had was a half-finished drink she thought y/n still liked, and her heart sitting somewhere in her throat.

the door opened slowly.

and there she was.

y/n stood there in an old hoodie, hair pulled back, eyes guarded. beautiful. exhausted.

sophia couldn’t breathe.

“hey,” she said, voice barely audible.

y/n stared at her like she was seeing a ghost. “you remembered where i live.”

“megan told me. i… i know i shouldn’t have shown up. i just didn’t know what else to do.”

y/n said nothing. not yet. she didn’t close the door either.

sophia shifted on her feet. “you really left.”

“you really didn’t notice.”

it landed like a slap. not loud. just final.

sophia swallowed hard. “i was so deep in everything. rehearsals. promotions. meetings. i thought… i thought i could make it up to you after.”

y/n’s voice was flat. “there’s always an after with you. after the comeback. after the fanmeet. after the schedule. i kept waiting for us to matter again.”

“we did matter. we do.”

“then why did it take you three weeks to even realize i was gone?”

sophia opened her mouth. closed it. there was no excuse. only regret.

“i kept telling myself i was doing it for us,” she whispered. “all the work. all the sacrifices. but what’s the point if i lose you in the process?”

a flicker of something — pain, or maybe softness — passed through y/n’s expression. but her voice stayed steady. tired. “you didn’t lose me. not all at once. you let me drift.”

“i didn’t mean to.”

“but you did.”

sophia felt her throat tighten. “i still love you.”

y/n’s eyes welled, but she didn’t let them fall. “i loved you in silence. i waited and waited, sophia. i begged you in a hundred ways without saying a word. and you didn’t see me.”

“i see you now.”

“too late.”

those two words broke something in her.

“but if there’s even the smallest part of you,” sophia said quietly, “that wants to try again someday… i’ll wait. i’ll actually wait.”

“don’t wait,” y/n said. “don’t promise something you might forget again.”

sophia nodded slowly. “then just… let me earn the right to try.”

y/n didn’t answer. didn’t smile. but she didn’t close the door.

and before sophia turned to leave, y/n said, softer than anything she’d said all night:

“don’t text me unless you really mean it this time.”

sophia’s heart ached.

“i will,” she whispered. “when i do… you’ll know.”

⸻

later that night

sophia [unsent]: i can’t sleep. not without you.

sophia [unsent]: i wore your hoodie today. it still smells like you.

sophia [unsent]: i’m sorry i didn’t fight for you sooner.

sophia [unsent]: i love you. i miss you. i’ll wait.

she stared at the blinking cursor.

deleted all of it.

waited.

and meant it.

—

a/n: MORE. I NEED MORE REQUEST NEOW.

[sh4nksslvt]

Greetings! May I request Luffy x reader who used to be so nonchalant and reserved but after the timeskip, reader can't help but secretly stare and admire luffys muscles especially in wano when luffy was in prison and reader got caught up in the mess. Reader is basically simping and blushing as they stared, sometimes wishing to be held by luffy because of it.

Steel and Sunlight

You were always the calm one—until two years passed and Luffy's muscles became a problem.

LUFFY X GN!READER | ONE SHOT tags: fluff, sfw, ooc(?), simping!reader, comfort a/n: this js me trying to write ffs, this is experimental and for fun only, so expect this ffs a bit cringe n akward word count: 1k

masterlist | ko-fi

: 𓏲🐋 ๋࣭  ࣪ ˖✩࿐࿔ 🌊

You used to be the composed one.

Cool. Calm. Unbothered.

Whether it was Luffy announcing a war with the World Government over lunch or Zoro getting lost on the same ship, you never flinched. Your reactions were measured, your tone even. If Robin was “mysterious” and Zoro was “stoic,” you were “unshakably chill.” That was your brand.

Then the timeskip happened.

And now? Now you had a problem. A tall, tan, infuriatingly ripped problem.

It started the moment you saw him again on Sabaody. You didn’t expect much to change—maybe a new scar, some new techniques, a slightly deeper voice. What you didn’t expect was the muscle. Luffy, the rubber goofball you once had to stop from putting forks in outlets, had come back with biceps that could casually snap chains and pecs that flexed when he so much as breathed.

You were not okay.

But you could deal with it. You were good at hiding things. Two years of control didn’t break that easily.

Until Wano.

Wano was chaos, but it was beautiful. You had joined up with the group that infiltrated the Flower Capital, your identity masked in stolen rags. Everything went relatively smoothly—until Luffy punched kaido who is untouchable, got caught, and thrown into a prison camp.

Naturally, you dove headfirst into the mess to follow him. You told yourself it was strategic. You told yourself someone had to watch his back.

But let’s be honest: you saw those chains, those muscles bulging under the sun, the sweat glistening down his chest—and your brain went static.

You were absolutely, one-hundred percent, down bad.

“Hey,” Luffy’s voice snapped you out of your trance.

You blinked, realizing you’d been staring again. Not just staring—mouth slightly open, red-faced, nearly-drooling staring.

“H-Huh? Yeah?” you coughed, rubbing your face like it might wipe away the blush.

Luffy looked at you curiously, a big chunk of dango sticking out of his mouth. “You okay? Your face is all red.”

“I’m fine,” you muttered, turning away so fast you nearly tripped over a bucket.

He caught your arm—easily, with that damn veiny forearm—and steadied you like it was nothing.

“Whoa SHISHISHI,” he laughed, bright and unbothered. “You really okay?”

You nodded quickly, but your heart was screaming: No. I’m not. You touched me and now I’m going to die.

You spent your prison days doing everything you could to seem normal. You focused on the plan, helped stir rebellion among the prisoners, and tried to ignore the fact that Luffy kept lifting entire stone slabs shirtless.

Sometimes you stole glances. Okay—often.

One day, you caught him mid-training, shirt half-off, sweat gleaming under the sunlight filtering through the bars. He was laughing with Hyogoro, his muscles flexing with every movement, and you just stood there behind a crate, watching like a total creep.

I want to be held by those arms, you thought—and then smacked yourself so hard the guy next to you flinched.

You made a promise to yourself: no more ogling. You were a samurai of dignity. Or something.

That promise lasted six hours.

“You’ve been acting weird,” Luffy said bluntly one morning, tossing a dango at you. “Weird-weird. Not your usual chill-weird.”

“I’m fine,” you lied, biting into the dango like it owed you money.

“You stare a lot,” he added, unbothered as always. “Especially when I’m working out.”

You choked. He patted your back, grinning. “See? shishishi! that’s what I mean.”

You didn’t know what was worse—that he noticed, or that he was cool about it.

Things got worse the next day, when Queen decided to throw another death game. You were chained up next to Luffy, side by side in the cold prison dirt.

He was still shirtless, breathing hard from the fight, and glowing in the sunlight.

He turned to you, his voice low for once. “You okay?”

“I’m—” You met his eyes, your chest tight. The sunlight painted across his collarbone. You were way too close. “I’m fine.”

“You sure?” His voice dropped even more. “You look… kinda sad.”

You didn’t mean to say it. Really, you didn’t.

But you mumbled, “Just wish I could lean on you for a bit.”

There was a pause.

Then Luffy, ever literal, opened his arm and said, “...Okay.”

You froze. Blinked. Was he serious?

“You said you wanna lean on me, right?” he said with a smile. “Go ahead.”

“…I didn’t mean—” You swallowed. “Okay.”

You leaned in.

His skin was warm. His arm settled around you. He smelled like sweat, dango, and something distinctly him—earthy and light.

You didn’t move for a long time.

And neither did he.

After that, something changed.

Luffy started hovering a little more. Sitting closer. Sometimes his shoulder would bump yours “accidentally.” He started sparring shirtless on purpose, claiming it was “hot” (it wasn’t). One night, he even offered you his lap when there wasn’t enough room on the floor.

You refused.

Then agreed 30 seconds later.

He grinned the whole time, like he knew something.

Eventually, you couldn’t take it anymore.

It was a quiet moment in the prison yard. Most of the guards were asleep. Luffy was practicing his haki again, his back turned, muscles flexing as he struck the stone.

“Luffy,” you said, heart in your throat.

He stopped. Turned, face open. “Yeah?”

You didn’t know how to say it, not without sounding like an idiot. So you just blurted:

“You look really good.”

There was a beat of silence.

Luffy tilted his head. “Good?”

“Like—” You threw your hands up. “Muscles. Strong. Attractive. I don’t know, okay? You got buff and now I can’t think straight.”

He blinked.

You buried your face in your hands. “I’ve been staring for weeks and I’m sorry I’m weird and probably creepy and—”

“Cool,” Luffy said simply.

You peeked out between your fingers. “What?”

“I think you look good too,” he said. “Your punches are stronger. And I like your face.”

Your heart stopped.

“You—what?”

He walked over. “Wanna lean on me again?”

You stared. “You’re impossible.”

He grinned wider. “But strong, right?”

You laughed despite yourself. “Yeah. Strong.”

You leaned into him again, this time with your arms around his waist. He held you like it was the easiest thing in the world.

Later, when you were all free and celebrating under the cherry blossoms, Luffy came up behind you, wrapped his arms around your waist, and nuzzled into your neck.

“You’re still staring,” he teased.

You blushed. “So? You’re still showing off.”

“Maybe,” he said, pressing his face into your shoulder. “I like when you look.”

You were so screwed.

But maybe being hopelessly into your captain wasn’t so bad after all.

[softlymaximoff]

Head canons of Wanda Maximoff and new Avenger reader

18+ ONLY! MEN & MINORS DNI (blank blogs will be blocked you do not have my permission to republish my work onto any platform.

She absolutely terrified you. Her damn green eyes that looked like they were made out of sea glass were always watching. Most of the time they were cold or glaring and you never knew what the hell you did to be on the receiving end of it.

When cooking for the team became your job you just knew Wanda hated it. She’d barely touch the meals made, never said thanks and never offered to help. It was probably one of the most agonising parts of your week.

You, much to everyone’s surprise were also from Sokovia, or well, a small town just west of Wanda’s home country. Another thing she hated. First you come in as another failed test subject from some underground science freak lab, then become one of the team’s best additions and lastly, you were wanted.

Wanda never got the warm welcome, after the stunt she pulled all those years ago, she socially sabotaged herself. Without her brother, without her literal whole world, she was truly alone. Yes Natasha and Clint came up and checked on her every now and then but she knew it was only because Fury told them to.

You on the other hand, were the best thing the team’s seen since sliced bread. They had found you caught in a loop of ruthless behaviour after seeking you out for weeks, months even. Fist fighting men at the bar as they went to corner your mission agents, dealing with backend rivals who had done your institution wrong, targeting officials in a higher power conference from yards away. You were a spy with the ability to predict another’s internal thoughts.

Unlike Wanda however, you couldn’t show a person’s fear or control their mind. You were just a lurker in the back of someone’s dark twisted void of a thought system. You were a menace. Raised in a lab, released in a maze full of people from hell.

When they brought you in you were uncontrollable, snarky and feisty. But you weren’t a monster. You were just a vessel for the lab you escaped. REMUS was the name, Regimen, Effectus, Mactabilis, Ulciscor, Scientia. They had sedated you, Clint’s aim on his bow and arrow never ceased to amaze you.

That was 7 months ago. The team trained you to control your power and drive your combat and stealth skills to their respective teammates. Sparring with Bucky on combat drills, stealth recall practice with Nat and prediction drills with Clint and his arrows.

Wanda hated the special treatment you got. She loathed it. It made her feel even more of an outcast than she already was. Every time she’d see you with her teammates she’d scowl and put her walls up again. She never knew you saw her. You felt it. Her mind was the only one in the team you couldn’t weave your way into. No matter how hard you tried.

The only ever time her walls fell was when she’d heard your voice on a particular night you’d woken up from yet another nightmare. Your own internal battles were screaming at her to find you. Her heart hammered in her chest knowing she was the cause of this. She pushed her pride and anger down when your words became bitter and spiteful towards yourself.

That night she stood outside your door contemplating whether or not to go in but the final straw was when she’d heard your inner voice screaming for someone to make it stop. The sight of you curled up in a ball on the mattress on the floor hyperventilating made her own tears well up and she was by your side in an instant. To her surprise you didn’t even flinch, you just let her comfort you.

From then on, Wanda was nicer, a little less cold, and maybe even a little in love with you. She didn’t understand it, and neither did you. She came back to the tower one day when you and some of the crew were on a recon drill with fresh flowers from a local organic market near the compound. An array of Hibiscus, Lilly-of-the-Valley, purple Hyacinth, and a single Maidenhair Fern.

When you eventually came back from recon, Wanda’s flowers were at your room door, gentle red dust glowing around the bouquet like a whispered apology. Wanda never spoke to you much, but her actions had said all you needed to hear. You had finally found a friend in her. You were no longer a monster in her eyes, you were just you. And that’s all you could have asked for.

[mommyslittlebird]

Sub!top reader x slightly overstimulated Wanda. I need your thoughts. I genuinely wanna know because is being a domme not a state of mind? Like can you be overstimulated and like it while still being in control? I have soooo many questions abt it

-🛍️

This is more power bottom Wanda than dom Wanda, but I did my best. An expansion on this.

“Oh fuck!” Wanda screamed as her third orgasm of the night crashed through her body. She nearly shot up from underneath, overwhelmed with the sheer intensity of it all.

You slowed down. She was clearly overstimulated. You hadn’t cum yet but she needed a break.

“N-no,” she stammered. “Don’t stop. Don’t- don’t stop. Just… just hold my arms down.”

“B-but…” you started to protest. You were concerned and you never ever wanted to hurt Wanda. “If you can’t keep going that’s really alright. I can just…”

“N-no. No I want this. I want… I want you to use me,” she explained. “I want you to use me to get yourself off. Like… like I’m a just a fleshlight and you’re- ah s-shit.”

She was interrupted by a sharp thrust of your hips, pushing yourself back inside of her in one fell swoop, nearly kissing her cervix. You put her arms over her head and pinned her forearms down with your hands. You felt that familiar surge of energy run through you. Power. Authority. But at the same time, you were still so scared of hurt Wanda.

“Like… like this?” You asked, unsure of what you were doing.

“Yes! Yes that’s it. Use your mama’s body. Turn her into your toy,” she panted, writhing underneath you as your hips picked up speed again. It was too much. She’d cum so many times it hurt. But she loved it. “God! Fuck you’re so big,” she panted as you roughly forced all 9 inches of yourself into her.

Your hips rutted into hers even harder than they had before, shaking the entire bed with the power of each thrust. You could feel yourself getting close already, high on the newfound power. You shakily and nervously asked “c-can I slap you again?”

Wanda’s eyes lit up with excitement. She’s trained you to be so big and tough: to love hurting her despite your gentle heart. “Yes. Go ahead and slap mama. Make me your good little slut.”

You slapped her hard across the face, addicted to the way it made her clench around you. It made her yelp and squirm, but you kept her pinned down underneath you. “I-I’m gonna cum. Mommy I’m gonna….” You wrapped your arms around her waist holding her close and muffling your cries of pleasure into her chest.

You collapsed onto her chest, letting yourself naturally fall out of her as you went soft. She wrapped her arms around you and kissed your head, gently scratching your scalp.

“Did I do good, mama?” You asked. She was getting used to that being your first question every single time you fucked, regardless of how many times she had cum.

“Yes, baby. You were so good for me,” she reassured, adjusting you into a more comfortable position on her chest. “Mama is so proud of you.”

[aleskyyy]

To Love and Let Go — Simon Riley x F!Reader

From the beginning, you has secretly loved Simon, but you'd kept your feelings buried—knowing he has someone else.

Warnings— just angst

Main Masterlist COD Masterlist

They called you Eagle on the field, sharp-eyed and steady-handed, one of the best snipers in the task force. But to Simon, you was always just “Rookie,” even after three years of watching each other’s backs in firefights and silent desert nights.

From the first mission, you'd been drawn to him—not because of his looks, you never saw his face for fuck shake—but because he listened. Really listened. He noticed things. Your limp after the training injury. Your habit of counting bullet casings. The way you stared too long at the stars when you thought no one was watching.

But he belonged to someone else.

His girlfriend.

You didn’t hate her. You couldn’t. She was beautiful in a soft, graceful way, and she made Simon laugh like no one else could.

So you buried it.

The late nights, the close calls, the scars—they all became dirt on the feelings you refused to let grow.

You and your team always ended up at Daniel’s, the bar just outside base. Dim lights, dusty floors, and strong drinks.

“You’re too quiet again,” Simon said, sliding into the booth beside you one night.

“I’m thinking,” you replied, sipping your whiskey.

“You only think that hard when you're sad.”

You forced a smile. “Maybe I’m just hungover from yesterday.”

Simon chuckled and bumped your shoulder. “Liar.”

Then the door opened, and your heart sank, as it always did when his girlfriend walked in, light on her feet, like she didn’t carry the weight of war on her shoulders the way you did.

Simon’s eyes lit up. “There she is.”

And just like that, you became background noise again.

You watched them, the way Simon's hand found his girlfriend without thinking. How he leaned into her laugh like it was music. You studied it all like a mission, silently documenting the proof that you was never going to be more than a teammate to him.

“I’ll get another round,” you muttered, sliding from the booth.

At the bar, Daniel, the owner gave you a look. “You okay?”

“Do I look like I’m not?”

“You look like a girl who’s watching someone she loves love someone else.”

You didn’t reply. You downed a shot instead.

A week later, you and your team were deployed again. Hostile territory. Hot zone. The kind of place where confessions came too late and goodbye could mean forever.

After a tense firefight, they made camp in a blown-out building. Night fell. Simon sat beside you, brushing dirt from a scratch on your arm.

“You scared me today,” he said.

“I’m always careful.”

“You weren’t careful with your life.”

You turned to him. “Why do you care?”

Simon hesitated. “Because you matter. We’re a team.”

That word again.

Team.

You laughed bitterly. “Right. A team.”

Simon frowned. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

But you just shook your head. “Forget it.”

He didn’t press. He never did.

The war dragged on. Missions blurred. And the bar was always waiting. Another night. Another drink. And his girlfriend wasn’t there this time. You let yourself pretend—just for a second—that maybe Simon had come alone for you.

You reached for your glass, but his hand stopped you.

“You okay?”

“No,” you whispered, surprising yourself.

Simon’s eyes searched yours. “Talk to me.”

And just like that, the dam cracked.

“I like you, Simon. Since the first mission. Since you called me Rookie. Since you sat with me when I couldn’t sleep after Makarov. But I know you love her. I know I’m just background.”

Silence. Then, softly, “You’re not background. You never were.”

He looked at you like he was seeing you for the first time.

“I didn’t know.”

“I never wanted you to.”

Simon nodded slowly, jaw tight. “I do love her. But, part of me always wondered—”

You shook your head. “Don’t say it. We’re soldiers. We survive. That’s enough.”

You stood up, grabbed your coat.

“You—” he started.

But you already walking away.

Because some wars you win.

And some, you survive with your heart still beating, even if it’s broken.

© 2025 aleskyyy

[chadobi]

“Control”

Bayverse Leo x reader

Slow burn | tension | unspoken love

Hi guys! If you want me to write you something that’s on your mind just text me! Oh and i have this one shot in drafts like for 6 months! Soo i hope you will like that🤍

——————

The dojo was quiet.

The only sounds were your breaths—soft, controlled—and the padded thumps of your bare feet as you tried, for the fifth time, to copy Leonardo’s stance.

“You’re still leading too much with your right side,” Leo said gently, stepping behind you again. “It leaves your ribs exposed.”

“I’m trying,” you mumbled, planting your foot harder into the mat.

“I know,” he replied, and you could hear the warmth in his voice.

Then came the light pressure of his hand—fingers grazing your ribs to guide you, the other on your shoulder to tilt you back slightly.

Every time he touched you, it was careful. Like he thought you’d break. Like he was afraid he might.

You didn’t move for a moment. Just stood there, trying to breathe steadily while your heart kicked in your chest.

“There,” he said, his voice suddenly quieter. “That’s better.”

You nodded but didn’t speak. His hand lingered a moment longer than necessary before he stepped back, the absence of him suddenly noticeable like cold air rushing in where heat used to be.

————-

Training with Leo had become a routine—a ritual, almost. Late nights in the dojo after everyone else had gone to bed. Just you, him, and the low buzz of energy between you that neither of you addressed.

It started off simple. You’d asked him to teach you how to defend yourself—nothing serious, just enough to hold your own. He’d agreed without hesitation, but now, weeks later, it was clear: this was about more than fighting.

It was time. Connection. That quiet closeness only built through repetition and shared space.

You stepped into your stance again and exhaled. “Okay. Let’s try it one more time.”

Leo nodded, moving into position across from you. His movements were always fluid—controlled, strong, beautiful. You hated how often you caught yourself staring.

He came at you slow this time, giving you the chance to counter. You blocked, pivoted, then tried to sweep his leg. He dodged it effortlessly, catching your wrist and twisting you toward him to stop your momentum.

You stumbled forward.

Straight into his chest.

Your hands instinctively landed against the edge of his plastron as his arm came around you to steady your back. For a second—just a heartbeat—you stayed there, face turned slightly into his shoulder, breathing hard.

He was warm. Solid. Close enough to count the tiny scars on his skin.

Then-slowly-you looked up at him.

And he was already looking at you.

Neither of you moved.

The world outside the dojo didn’t exist. Just his eyes, locked on yours, with something in them so intense it made your stomach twist. Something tender. Something terrifying.

Your lips parted—like maybe you’d say it. Maybe this was the moment.

But you didn’t.

And neither did he.

Instead, Leo blinked and gently let go, stepping back, his arms falling to his sides like the moment hadn’t just happened.

“You’re improving,” he said, his voice a little hoarse.

You nodded once, trying to catch your breath. “Thanks. That… felt better.”

He looked down briefly, adjusting the strap on his arm, then nodded too. “We’ll stop here for tonight.”

You grabbed your water bottle, trying to hide the way your hands trembled just slightly. “Same time tomorrow?”

He gave you a soft smile. “I’ll be here.”

You offered a half-smile back before heading to the exit.

And as you walked away, you didn’t look back.

Because you knew if you did, he’d be watching you.

And maybe—just maybe—he’d be wishing, like you were, that one of you had been brave enough to say it.

[grandline-fics]

True love’s kiss with Sabo please?

DESCRIPTION: True Love's Kiss- The moment they realise they're in love

WARNINGS:  none, just fluff

CHARACTERS: Sabo

WORDS: 1,197

A/N: I'm still slowly working my way through this Valentine's requests and I promise the masterlist will be finished. However that's not going to stop me from still posting other requests or working on other original stuff including on-going series like Immune To Your Charms, Forget-Me-Not (that I will hopefully have the next chapter of written this month), or any new stuff I might think of. Hope you all enjoy and thank you again for your amazing support 💕

*REQUESTS ARE OPEN*

DIRECTORY | PROMPT LIST | KO-FI | VALENTINES EVENT MASTERLIST

———————

Sabo had spent most of his life surrounded by the Revolutionary Army. Quite literally for a very long time it was all he knew. The ideals and goals of Dragon, were his too and he spent his waking life learning, training, working to make the future his leader saw become a reality. If he wasn’t at the Revolutionary Base, honing his skills, he would be on missions. As misleading as his usually laid-back and playful nature was, Sabo was a hardworking man, with his mind only ever on the job and gave very little time to relaxing beyond the set aside time needed to sleep. At least that's the way it had been.

Koala walked into one of the lounge rooms of the Revolutionary Base to see you reading over a mission brief. You were completely relaxed, cheek resting against your hand while the other held the file with your feet tucked under you. She let out a small huff of amusement to cast her gaze down to see Sabo lying on the sofa with you, his head on your lap and one arm reaching back to encircle your legs while the other was resting against his chest. With his top hat askew to hang over his face it was impossible to see his expression but the sight alone told Koala and anyone else walking by that he was peacefully asleep. 

It was impossible to ignore and not to find some amusement out of the scene in front of her. The Chief of Staff actually taking time to relax and nap? It may have been a sight that was becoming a more regular thing but it was still something everyone took the time to savour because for so long such a thought was laughable. Koala approached the sofa and smiled to you in greeting before lazily folding her arms on the back of the seat and peered down at the man who was her technically her superior. “Sabo?” She called out, her amusement growing to see him make the smallest movement and continue to sleep; his fingers on his chest barely twitching. If she hadn't been looking she would have missed it. “Sabo! Wanna train?”

Immediately Sabo stirred. Koala’s second attempt finally breaking through his subconscious, old habits died hard after all. With a long yawn, Sabo tipped his hat up to blink sleepily at Koala. His face twisted as he managed to come back to consciousness and form her words coherently in his mind. Sabo took another deep breath and rubbed his eyes before letting out a low, deep hum; not one of consideration to her invitation to train but one of complete ease. Koala’s eyebrows rose in mild surprise to see Sabo roll onto his side and hug your legs tighter as he relaxed once more in the new position. “Hmm maybe later.” He mumbled as another yawn began to build in his chest again. “Far too comfy right now.” 

His content sigh suddenly turned to a sharp gasp. Immediately he pushed himself up to look to you with an intense look. He didn’t even register the swiftness of the movement caused his hat to fall from his head and tumble onto the floor with a muffle thump. “Wait. When do you go for your mission?”

“Tomorrow afternoon.” You answered with a smile, finally looking away from the file in your hand to lightly drift your fingers through Sabo’s soft blond waves. Your smile growing when he leant into the touch and slumped back down on your lap once more only this time he was facing you, adjusted slightly so he could continue to look at you and enjoy the gentle and absent touch of your fingers running through and playing with his hair.

“Jeez Sabo I don't think you could look any more like a lovestruck puppy if you tried.” Koala laughed to herself. She looked solely to you and didn’t notice Sabo’s expression had frozen at her remark and teasingly added. “When you leave tomorrow, double check he hasn’t snuck on board.”

You playfully rolled your eyes and smiled as Koala pushed away from the sofa and left you both alone. You cast a glance at Sabo, intending to make a joking comment about Koala but you stopped and set your half-read mission brief aside on the armrest. Delicately you let your fingertips push back his hair from his face so you could skim over the scar against his eye while your newly freed hand lowered to entwine with his gloved fingers. “What’s up Chief?”

Sabo only stared at you. Not in a way for you to feel concerned. You could tell he was thinking deeply about something. You wouldn’t be surprised if he actually was formulating a plan to sneak onto your ship to join you on your mission. Partly because he wanted to be with you but also because you knew how restless he could be without something to do and training at the base and attending meetings- while extremely important- could only distract him for so long and didn’t quite scratch that itch that a mission would. You knew Sabo would give you an answer when he was ready, so for now you just patiently waited with a soft smile.

The truth was Sabo wasn’t thinking about anything to do with the Revolutionary Army or missions. No, the second Koala pointed out he was ‘lovestruck’ he was suddenly hit with the truth of it and now he was thinking what a fool he was to not have noticed sooner. Of course this was more than the simple romantic fling or basic relationship. Of course it was love. You were the only person who brought his restless, always active soul peace enough to find comfort and a place to relax in a way that no other being or force in this world could. “I could, y’know…”

“You could what?” You asked with a curious smile at his final musings. Sabo took your hand, keeping it against his face as he slowly sat up to inch closer to your face with his lips curling into a warm and adoring smile just for you. 

“I could look more lovestruck if I tried to because apparently I was doing such a bad job of it neither of us realised.” He explained with a grin when you blinked in surprise. “Love you.”

“Love you too, Sabo.” You confessed almost breathless but entirely sincere, your smile broad and heart warm as he closed the distance to kiss you with every ounce of the realised depth of his feelings for you. When you broke away you laughed softly and pressed another quick kiss against his lips before you had to reluctantly grab your mission file. The sooner you finished reading, the more time you got with Sabo before you had to leave. As he settled back down against your lap, with an unmovable smile you cast him a playfully suspicious stare. “This doesn’t mean you’re coming with me tomorrow.”

“We’ll see, love.” Sabo chuckled, with his eyes already closed and hand still firmly holding yours. He was still a restless workaholic after all. “We’ll see." 

——————————————-

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[laursdomain]

don't let it break you down

pairing: bodhi durran x fem!marked!reader

genre: angst

synopsis: Being a carbon copy of Xaden Riorson is never easy. Bodhi Durran has learned to deal with it over the years, but there are times a push turns into a shove. He needs his solace and grounding, and you’re the only one who can provide that to him, proving to him that he is not lesser than his cousin.

warnings: cursing, overthinking, bodhi has very low self-worth, established relationship, takes place during FW, happy ending!!

w/c: 1.5k

a/n: song ➳ science by niall horan; here's day 2: mirror for bodhi week!!! @empyreanevents

ྀིbodhi durran masterlist

⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖ ࣪

Being a child of the rebellion was hard. Bodhi Durran knew that all too well. He never thought something would be even harder, yet Professor Carr proves him wrong every fucking day. He didn’t care about the shouts he heard from Carr as he stomped out of the room. He didn’t care that he had made a scene, probably embarrassing his squad. And he most certainly didn’t care that Imogen would most likely tell his cousin.

“Very well, Cadet Durran! Keep training, and you’ll be just like your cousin.” Professor Carr’s voice fills his head, making him even angrier, if that was even possible.

are you numb? can you touch?

If there was one thing Bodhi hated most in this venin-filled world, it was being compared to his cousin. He was abundantly aware that he looked just like him, and everyone expected him to be just as great as Xaden. He hated it, because he knew how lesser he was in comparison to Xaden–and even to Garrick. He hated feeling lesser than them, and he hated when people pointed it out. The poisonous thoughts swimmed in his head, like a parasite, refusing to leave. He’s not even focusing on where he is going, but he knows his legs are taking him to the room he shares with you, the only place in Basgiath that isn’t Xaden’s. He knew you’d come find him after class, and he couldn’t wait. You were his solace.

Bodhi hadn’t realized that you followed him out of the classroom, also ignoring the way Carr yelled after you. You know if the roles were reversed, Bodhi would do the same. You also couldn’t help but wonder what Carr could’ve said to enrage Bodhi. He hadn’t heard, but Imogen did. The look she gave you was enough to make you concerned, and you had an inkling of what it could’ve been about.

Your shorter legs were no match for Bodhi’s long legs, who seemed to be on a mission to get to the solace of your room. It wasn’t until he went to close the door that he realized you had followed him, wordlessly sidestepping to let you in before closing the door behind you. You watch as Bodhi paces the length of your room, deeply lost in his thoughts. You knew you’d have to pull him out of it eventually, to make him sit down with you and tell you what’s bothering him.

You step forward, taking his hands in your own, forcing him to stop pacing. He doesn’t meet your eyes, hands keeping a vice-like grip on your own. He hasn’t stopped tensing since he left the classroom, and that worried you.

“Bodhi,” you softly speak, almost as if you’re speaking to a scared child. “What’s wrong?”

“What’s wrong?” He reiterates, scoffing. “Professor Carr is what’s wrong.”

You playfully roll your eyes, a weak attempt to untense him. It doesn’t work. “Professor Carr is always like this. Trying to get under everyone’s skin. What did he say?”

oh, when you feel you're sinking, overthinking

Bodhi hesitates, gaze fixated on the floor. He knew you’d never judge him, you two have been through everything together. From watching your parents die because of their involvement with the rebellion to surviving the quadrant together, you understand everything that goes on inside his mind. Though, the overthinking nature of his planted poisonous thoughts in his head make him hesitate. Would you really understand? Is he just overreacting? 

“Bodhi,” you speak more sternly, pulling him out of his thoughts again. The look in your eyes is enough to ease his thoughts, willing him to tell you the truth.

Bodhi clenches his jaw before speaking, “Carr told me that after more training, I’ll be just like Xaden.”

His words squeezed your heart, an empathetic look written on your face. You were aware of Bodhi’s struggles with separating himself from Xaden, especially when they were nearly identical. To most people, it was hard to separate the two. But for you, it was incredibly easy. If you really paid attention to Bodhi, you’d notice the little things that make him very different to Xaden Riorson.

so, when you feel there's nothin' left

Your hands leave his hands, sliding up to cup his cheeks, forcing him to look at you. “You are Bodhi Durran, there’s nothing that’ll make you him. You are your own person, just like Xaden is his own self.”

He nods, but you could tell he was having a hard time believing your words. It didn’t help that he was always seen as Xaden’s shadow, his backup, as Garrick joked one day. That resulted in Bodhi not speaking to Garrick for a couple of days. You practically yelled at the older boy, before realizing your place.

Your hands find Bodhi’s again, the way his body loosens at the action doesn’t go unnoticed by you. You walk backwards, leading him towards your bed as you two sit down. You fold one of your legs under the other, facing him to give him the space to speak his mind. 

“It’s just,” Bodhi wasn’t scared of speaking the words to you. Confiding in you has always been easy, and he was eternally grateful that you loved him to the point that you’d listen for hours, not speaking until he was done. “I’m so sick of being seen as the lesser version of him. It’s not my fault I’m not as great as him.”

Typically you’d stay silent until he’s done, but you find yourself furrowing your brows. “You are just as great as him, Bodhi. You aren’t lesser than him.”

He gives you a look, not believing your words. “He is the shadow wielder of our generation, it’s not common like fire wielding or ice wielding.”

You raise a brow, “and countering signets is common? You have a classified signet patch, Bodhi. That’s enough to intimidate people of the power you hold. You can turn off any of our signets, including Xaden’s, by simply moving your wrist. You strip Xaden of his most powerful weapon in mere seconds.”

“I’d never use it on him,” he retorts.

“I know, but the fact still stands. You could.” Your gaze peers at him, though he still refuses to meet your eyes. You were used to this, he never liked to look at anyone when he was feeling vulnerable. 

“I’m not as strong as Xaden, he bests everyone in the quadrant.” 

“You may not be as strong, but he doesn’t beat everyone. Garrick has bested him multiple times, he’s our strongest fighter for a reason.” 

He opens his mouth to retort, then closes it when he realizes you have a point. Contradicting his insecurities seem to be working, his body slowly untensing from next to you. He’s no longer gripping your hands, he’s resorted to tracing your fingers, distracting himself as he confides in you.

oh, you've got nowhere left to run

“I could never handle all the responsibilities he bears.” Bodhi’s words hit you like a dragon, and you weren’t sure how to respond. 

Unfortunately, he had a point. None of the marked ones could do what Xaden has done for all of you. He took one hundred and seven scars for you all, taking responsibility for everyone. He risked everything by getting involved in the revolution. He does majority of the manufacturing of the alloy-hilted daggers and the supply runs for it. He gives so much to us, and the only thing we can truly give back is our allegiance. 

“None of us could,” you admit, shoulders slumping. “He’s made sacrifice after sacrifice for us.”

“Is it,” Bodhi begins, turning his head away. “Is it bad to have all these insecurities when he’s put himself on the line for us so many times?”

“No,” you shake your head. “It’s perfectly normal, especially considering how much you’re compared to him. I think I’d be going crazy if I was in your position.”

“Welcome to my world,” he mumbles, earning a light giggle from you. The sound of your laugh makes him slightly smile, and you consider that a win. “I’m not even as intimidating as he is.”

you can dance on your own, it's okay, 'cause you're not alone

“That’s a good thing, mo ghrá dhil. You’re more approachable and kinder. People are more likely to go to you for things than him. Consider that a win.” You watch the way Bodhi untenses and lightly blushes from the use of tyrrish, watching as he not-so-subtly scoots closer to you.

He smiles, slightly nodding his head in agreement. “Maybe you’re right.”

“There is an advantage to being seen as just like him,” you begin, watching as he furrows his brows at you. He urges you to continue, wondering where you’re going with this. You weren’t sure where you were going with it either, but the urge to make your boyfriend feel better overruled everything. “Every enemy will always be terrified of you because you are Xaden Riorson’s cousin, and look just like him.” You speak with dramatics, watching a smile tug at Bodhi’s lips. 

“That’s true,” he chuckles, bashfully smiling. “Thank you, a thaisce.”

“You’re welcome, mo ghrá dhil.” You wrap an arm around his neck, pulling him in to place a chaste kiss on his lips. Once you pull away, he’s quick to wrap his arms around you, pulling you into one of his loving hugs. 

Unlike Xaden, Bodhi gives much better hugs, even if you’ve never gotten a hug from Xaden.

⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖ ࣪

[lovelettersfrommai]

Rooms I Don’t Enter

Summary: You and Bucky live through each other’s worst memories. 

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x fem! Reader (HYDRA Experiment) 

A/N: Marvel brain rot is taking over post Thunderbolts*. I need to see it again IMMEDIATELY. Reader has fire and ice powers, reminiscent of a certain anime character…No I will not elaborate as to my involvement in the implied fandom. Not proofread, we die like men.  Also this is my first time writing for Bucky! Exciting stuff guys.

Word Count: 1,616

Disclaimers: I do not own the rights to anything Marvel related, I am merely a nerd who hyperfixates a lot.

Warnings !: Mentions of being abducted, vague body horror, reader gets forced to hurt someone, mentions of human experimentation. Bucky has healed from his past, but reader has not, hurt/comfort, angst?

MASSIVE THUNDERBOLTS* SPOILERS.

As soon as Bucky entered the void, he felt ice. Oh no. He thought to himself. No, no, no, no, no. He couldn’t be back here again. 

The hard substance pressed against his back as he landed in the ravine, right after his fall from the train all those years ago. All the wind had knocked out from his lungs, and he sat up abruptly, just in time to watch HYDRA soldiers drag his body across the floor, arm gone. He felt nauseous at the sight of it, his own body desecrated. The worst part is that he knew this was just the beginning. 

He needs to get the hell out of here.

~

The grass beneath your combat boots was a jarring sensation. Your head whips around, bewildered. A park? Weren’t you just in New York? Where did everyone else go? You look around. There’s a playground, and many trees. Picnic tables and benches where parents usually sit and watch their children, but right now it’s empty. Just you. It’s then that you hear a familiar sound. The music of an ice cream truck driving your way. It’s nice, almost peaceful, even.

If this weren’t a moment that you had literal nightmares about. 

It hits you then how you remember this place. This is the neighborhood park that you went to as a child. The one that you were abducted from. You watch as your younger self squeals happily, alone in the park. You had been saving up for the next time the ice cream man came around. 

“All alone today, young lady?” The man asks. Oh god, no. The younger version of yourself nods. You grab her wrist in an attempt to stop her from getting any closer, but she screams and the trees that were once just trees reach out and grab you, the branches twisting around your arms and physically pulling you away. You can do nothing but watch as you get taken. 

~

Bucky makes an effort to get out of the room, clawing at the walls. He realized that the room isn’t as big as it seems. He calls out, looking for somebody, anybody, and starts to punch at the ice with his metal arm. 

That isn’t me anymore. He thinks to himself. This is. 

At the same time, you use your powers to burn the branches keeping you away from your younger self. Ice shoots from your hands as you use it to propel yourself forward faster, ending at the truck’s hood. Looking in the tinted glass, you swear, if you look closely enough you can see-

“Bucky!” You call out, voice shaky, and limbs tired from the effort of sustaining your powers. Bucky turns his head. He heard you. You take a deep breath then smash the glass of the windshield with your bare hands, jumping through it and straight into Bucky. 

~

The moment you tackle him, you’re transported into a new place. Bucky recognizes the place immediately. He sees Zola’s face and internally cringes, wanting to punch the man. He huffs. It wouldn’t do anything here. He’s not gonna let this undo all the work he’s put in to bettering his mental health. You both just need to get out. 

It’s then that Bucky hears the words. His spine straightens as a shiver rolls down it. He knows they can’t hurt him now. They’re powerless in his deprogrammed mind, and yet he can’t help the way fear grips his chest. You grab his hand, and he is immediately brought back to earth. You’ve always been such a grounding force for him, and he can’t help but want to kiss you senseless for the kindness you’ve always shown him. 

The both of you have a long history together. You didn’t always see each other when you both were still under HYDRA, but even in his altered state Bucky knew you. Maybe that’s why once he pulled Steve from the river, he went to get you next. Together, the both of you look for a way to get out of the lab. When your foot hits a loose tile on the lab floor, you know this is likely it. You wordlessly gesture at it to Bucky, who instantly gets the memo, smashing it with his metal arm. 

Once you crawl through the hole in the floor, the two of you fall to the ground, entering a completely different space. Your hands come up behind Bucky’s head, making sure it doesn’t get badly hurt as you tumble into a cool concrete floor. Bucky’s arms wrap around your torso, making sure he takes the brunt of the impact. Once you finally settle into the new space, you press your forehead to his briefly kissing his cheek as you let out a breath of relief.

~

“Where are we now?” You mutter. The place feels familiar but it’s a tad too dark to make anything out. 

“You know where we are. The question is who are we going to see?” He murmurs lowly. It hits you then. The cold concrete floors, the darkness, the distinctive smell of dampness and a buildup of mold and mildew. You’re back in the basement cells. The place HYDRA kept you in between missions and sessions of “experiments” in the lab. It’s after the realization hits you, that you, younger you,  is ushered into the room harshly. You’re older now. Still far too young, but now in your early 20’s. It hits you then what exactly this memory is. You push Bucky’s head away, not wanting him to see what happened, but he stubbornly watches. 

What he doesn’t expect is to see himself, moreso, the winter soldier. He’s suddenly hit with a wave of nausea. Did he hurt you? He thought most of his memories were recovered, so why couldn’t he remember this? More importantly, why didn’t you tell him? 

“Doll…What is this? What did I do?” He asks, hands darting out to grab your shoulders. He doesn’t mean to squeeze as hard as he does, but you see the sense of urgency and more importantly, the signs of panic that cross his features. You shake your head emphatically, hands coming up to rest on his elbows in reassurance. 

“It’s not what you did…It’s what I did.” One of the guards start to speak to the both of you in Russian. He goes on about testing your abilities on a real subject, and you watch as you scramble on the floor. 

“Th-the doctors said I was done with testing today…” she tries to say. One of the guards grab her face harshly. 

“I know. This is just for fun…consider it target practice.” He replies. Bucky can only watch with sadness as you try to refuse, knowing it couldn’t have ended well. Meanwhile, your eyes fill with tears, the memory still causing guilt to eat at your consciousness. He walks over to the memory version of you, kneeling beside her as she too moves onto her knees, fire and ice powers activating. He pushes a stray hair behind your ear before pressing his forehead against your head. 

“It’s okay. You had no choice. I’m sorry…” He mutters into her ear. It won’t change anything. Won’t make you feel any better about doing it in the future, but that doesn’t matter right now. 

You watch him for a moment before trying to find a way out. The door that the guards pushed you through. You push and pull at the knob, and when that doesn’t work, you start kicking desperately. Anything to escape the agonizing past screams of your current lover. It eventually gives. You turn around to get Bucky. With one last comforting kiss to past you’s head, he stands up straight and jogs over to you, grabbing your hand and pulling you through the door to the next room. 

~

Once the two of you get to the next room, you attempt to seek respite for just a moment. Your hands come up over your ears, squeezing your eyes shut tightly. Bucky has never seen you like this. If anything, you are usually the stronger one in the relationship, always pulling him from the dark place. Now, as he looks at you, he recognizes just how vulnerable you seem, your actions reminding him of a child who is just trying to shut out the rest of the world. He takes a deep breath before approaching you.

“I’m sorry.” You apologize. Bucky shakes his head and gently cups your cheek with his flesh hand. 

“Don’t apologize for doing what you had to do to survive.” It’s a phrase that you’ve said to him time and time again. When the nightmares turn him into an insomniac and the skeletons hidden in his closet come out in full force. 

“...I didn’t know how to tell you.” His metal fingers wrap around one of your wrists, pulling your hand away from your ears and back to your sides, repeating it with your other arm. 

“I understand. There’s probably nobody else in this world who would understand but me.” Through all the time that you’ve been together, Bucky knows you. The same way that you know him. He’s never had this sort of closeness in his life, and it was only because you stubbornly refused to give up on him. Just like Sam. Just like Steve. Whatever he has accomplished after leaving HYDRA was the combined effort of both of you. If you weren’t gonna give up on him, why would he ever give up on you?

You let him hold you for a while, before finally accepting his words. You prepare yourself for whatever it is that might come next. 

“Let’s go help our friends.” 

[sevikaslatinawife]

You grunt as you bite into the side of Sevika’s neck, making the older jolt in surprise. Her hands squeeze your hips then trail up to grip your waist.

“Easy, puppy,” She tugs on your hips closer. Her left hand snakes up your back, making you shiver as the cool of her prosthetic seeps through your nightshirt.

There’s a soft huff that escapes you as you sink your teeth into her a little deeper. She chuckles, prosthetic fingers wrapping around the back of your neck and squeezing the sides of your neck above your collar. Hard enough to have you feel yourself going slack against her chest, leaning more of your weight on her.

“What is it?” Her tone is stern, leaving no room for arguments.

“Nothin’,” you grumble after pulling your teeth from her neck. Your arms tighten around her neck as you lick the dent you left with your teeth.

She flexes her fingers around your neck and groans. Her thighs flex beneath you, muscles tightening as she dips her metal fingers into the back of your collar to give a single tug.

You whine and don’t move, don’t follow the instruction you’re well-versed in. She laughs low and you shiver as the collar is tugged firmer, twice consecutively, and you swallow. You slowly push yourself to sit on her thighs, hands on her shoulders.

“Thought I had to remind you of your trainin’, puppy,” The name is pointed, almost daring you to keep pushing your luck but you purse your lips stubbornly. “Oh? What’s this?” Her right hand comes up to thumb your lower lip harshly, pulling it down from your teeth to expose them. “Puppy’s all pouty f’what?”

“ ‘m-m not —“ Your cut off by her thumb pushing past your teeth to press on your tongue.

“Not what, poutin’?” She chuckles and shakes her head. “Course you are, like the dumb pet you are.”

You whine, face heating up in embarrassment. But you know she’s right. You are pouting, and now whining, like the pet that you were trained to be.

“Spit it out,” She pulls her thumb from your mouth to swipe the wetness of it against your lower lip. “What s’it?”

“Saw that…” You swallow and look at her mouth instead of her eyes, lips still settled in a pout. “…that lady with you.”

Sevika pauses her thumbing of your neck with her prosthetic to huff out a laugh. “Jealous, puppy?”

Your eyes narrow before you can stop them and hers darken with mischief, accompanied by a tilt of a smirk to her lips. “No…”

“No?” She teases, hands dropping to your waist to pull closer and brush her lips against your own. “Don’t seem like it.”

“She was flirting with you,” You lean forward but she pulls back before you give her a proper kiss.

“Was she?” She continues to toy with you, licking her lips as she settles back against the couch fully. “You my guard puppy, now, too?”

Your heart hammers as your face burns with embarrassment. “Maybe I have to be.”

Sevika rolls her eyes and reaches up to grab your face with her right hand. Your chin is cupped in her palm as she flexes her fingers into the hollows of your cheeks and pulls you closer. Your jaw slacks in the hold, her fingers pressing between your molars to keep your mouth agape.

“No need f’that,” She shakes your head with her grip. “I’m your owner, ‘member? Not lookin’ for no one else, pup.”

You blink and nod as best you can in her hold.

“Good girl,” She pulls your face closer to suck on your bottom lip, eliciting a whine from you. “Now, let me show that pretty pussy how much you’re mine.”

[alisonwritesimagines]

Baba Yaga's Daughter ~Bucky Barnes Imagine~

Summary: You, John Wick's daughter, first meet the Winter Soldier. Then you meet him as Bucky Barnes.

Author’s Note: Based on this little prompt I wrote.

Reader’s Pronouns: She/Her

Word Count: 3.1k

Warnings/Tags: minor characters deaths, crossover, John Wick's daughter!reader, Winter Soldier!Bucky at first, trust issues at first

Do not repost this anywhere!

Everyone in the underground world knew you. Even though your father worked hard to make sure you weren't know, someone had saw you and John and told everyone. And because of that, your father had no choice but to train you for your own protection.

Your father hated having to train you when he had to take you in. But he knew it was for your own protection. And despite the harsh training, you wanted to be like your dad because you had lost your mother to his work and you had thought of nothing but wanting revenge for the last nine years.

"I'm going after them. The ones who killed mom," you tell your father.

You had just graduated college (as per your mother's request) and you wanted nothing but revenge for her.

"I figured," your father sighed.

"I know you didn't want me going into the business but you know I have to do this," you tell him.

"I know. That's why I put in some favors with some people who are more... friendlier than others," your dad tells you.

"How so?" You questioned.

"Told them that you would do some minor work in exchange for information on your mother's killers."

"Done. Where do I meet them?" You asked.

John motioned you to follow him so you wouldn't disturb your step-mom, Helen. You loved Helen. She was kind and never interfered with your relationship with your father. You were glad that she was the reason why your father retired from the underground world.

You both went down to the basement where he grabbed a black backpack, hidden behind some shelves.

"Had this for you when you were ready," your dad tells you, handing the backpack over to you.

"You're not going to stop me?" You questioned.

"No. Because you won't rest until they're all gone."

"I'm surprised you didn't get to them first," you tell him.

"I got to the man responsible for the leak. The others disappeared before I could get to them. Plus, I had you still. Couldn't leave you behind," your dad says.

"What's in the bag?" You asked, looking inside.

"Everything necessary for you. I've trained you to get stuff done quickly. Burner phone with my number only so I know you're alive or if you need my help, cash, and favors."

"I thought I needed to earn these favors?" You questioned.

"You're my daughter. You never need to earn favors from me. I will always be on your side no matter what," your father tells you.

"Thank you dad."

"I want updates. I know I'm retired but you know I will drop everything for you," your father says. You wrapped your arms around your father, hugging him tightly.

"I won't let you down," you tell him.

"You can never let me down. I don't want you thinking you can handle this on your own. If you need the help, call me. Don't hesitate," your dad tells you.

"I will. I love you."

"I love you too."

~~~~~

You stared down at the men that lied dead in front of you. You looked around before letting out a laugh. It was over. After two weeks, you did it. Every single man who killed your mother because she gave birth to John Wick's only child was dead.

You picked up your burner phone and called your father.

"Hello?"

"It's been done," you breathed out.

"Are you injured?"

"Just some scratches. The others had it worse," you tell him.

"Go to the Continental Hotel. Get a room and rest for the night. I'll come get you tomorrow at the cafe nearby," your dad tells you.

"Got it. And the clean up?" You asked.

"I'll send you the number. You're going to ask for a dinner reservation for the men you're with right now. Give them the address and they will come and clean up the mess. Make sure you pay them."

"How much?"

"Five."

"Got it. Thank you. I'll call you when I'm at the hotel," you tell your dad.

You waited for Charlie once you made the reservation. You sat nearby as you watched the cleanup crew take care of everything.

"Are you following your father's steps?" Charlie asked you.

"Just cleaning up some things. Thank you," you tell him, handing him the five coins.

~~~~~

You walked into the hotel before going up to the front desk. You smiled softly at Charon who was more surprised to see you.

"Y/n Wick. You've grown," he mentioned.

This wasn't the first time you had stayed at the hotel. You had been there once with your father when he went to find the man who was responsible for telling everyone about your mother, leading her to her unfortunate death.

"Hi Charon."

"Two nights?" He asked.

"Just one. My father will be picking me up in the morning."

"Of course," Charon said before giving you a hotel room key.

"Enjoy your stay Ms. Wick."

"Thank you."

You headed upstairs and up to your room. You took a hot shower before drying up and replacing some bandages on your cuts. You took out the burner phone to call your father.

"Hello?"

"At the hotel. I just showered and I'm probably gonna go to sleep already," you tell him.

"Get some rest. Then you, me, and Helen can go out for dinner tomorrow? Celebrate your graduation already," your dad suggested.

"I'd like that."

"I'll see you tomorrow."

"I'll see you tomorrow. Night dad."

"Night sweetheart."

You heard a knock on your door, making you get up from the bed to answer it. You opened it to see a worker standing in front of you. They held a garment bag in their hand as they stood in front of you.

"Mr. Scott asks you to join him for dinner."

"I don't have a dress for the occasion," you tell them.

"A gift from him. He'll be expecting you at the restaurant," they tell you, handing you the bag.

"Thank you," you say.

Once you made yourself presentable, you walked downstairs to meet with the owner. You found him sitting alone, a drink in his hand as he looked down at some book.

"Mr. Scott?" You say, getting his attention. Winston Scott looked over at you before getting out from his chair.

"Y/n Wick. It's been a while since I last saw you," he greeted, kissing your cheeks. He pushed your chair out so you could sit in it. You sat down as he pushed the chair in for you.

"How are you Mr. Scott?" You asked.

"Doing well. I heard you graduated college. What did you major in?"

"I double majored in political science and nursing."

"I'm sure your father is proud."

"He is. Is there any reason to why you asked me to join you for dinner?" You asked.

"A celebration for your graduating in college. But I also wanted to ask you if you plan on following in your father's footsteps?"

"I hate to break it to you but I am not. I was just... cleaning some things up," you explain.

"I see. Well then. Shall we eat?"

"Yes please."

Whispers began to grow in the restaurant. You looked over to see a man with a bodyguard with him. Except, the bodyguard had a metal arm with a red star on the bicep area.

"Please excuse me," Mr. Scott says. You nodded as you kept your eye on the bodyguard.

He wore a mask to cover his lower face. You watched as Winston Scott talked to the man with the body guard. The three men walked over to the table before joining you as well.

"I don't believe we've met," the man tells you as you stood up.

"No we haven't. I'm Y/n Wick," you introduced yourself. You watched as the man's face grow more pale.

"As in John Wick's daughter?" He asked.

"The very one."

"Is your father here?" The man asked, looking around.

"No. Not at the moment," you say.

"Forgive my rudeness. Ivan Titov," the man introduced himself.

"Pleasure," you say. You looked over at the masked man.

"And you sir?" You asked.

The masked man didn't speak.

"Please do not mind him. He is just here as a precaution for me," Ivan tells you. You glanced at Winston as he just gave a nod. You looked back and nodded.

"Well then gentlemen, should we eat?" You asked.

"Of course. Please," Winston said.

You sat back down before looking up at the masked man. He continued to stand nearby, watching over Ivan.

"Is your body guard going to eat as well?" You asked Ivan.

"He'll eat later," Ivan assures you. You nodded before looking down at the menu.

"He knows not to fight in here correct?" Winston asked Ivan.

"Of course. But as I said before. He is just for extra security."

"Y/n, have you heard of the Winter Soldier?" Winston asked you.

"No. Who is he?" You asked.

"He is my body guard. A fine soldier that serves under Hydra," Ivan said. You stared up at the Winter Soldier as he stared back at you.

"Does he have to wear the mask?" You asked.

"Yes."

"I see," you say, looking away.

After your meal, you wanted nothing more than to go to your room.

"Thank you for the meal, Mr. Scott. It was delicious."

"Of course."

"I must ask before you leave, Ms. Wick. Are you following into your father's path?" Ivan asked you.

"No. I just had to do something. But I will be off to finding a job that doesn't involve with this line of work," you explained.

"Of course," Winston nodded at you.

"Goodnight gentlemen," you smiled politely. The two stood up as you got up. You turned to leave but tripped over the chair's stand. Ivan's body guard quickly caught you, making you look up at him. You stared into his blue eyes for a bit.

"Thank you. I apologize for my clumsiness," you say, straightening yourself up.

"Are you alright though?"

"Yes."

"Why don't my body guard escort you back to your room? Make sure you don't trip and fall again," Ivan joked.

"If you don't mind," you say.

"Of course not. солдат. проводи молодую леди в ее комнату. убедись, что она не станет лакомством для гидры. (Soldier. Escort the young lady to her room. make sure she isn't a treat to Hydra).

"да, сэр."

"Thank you, Ivan. Goodnight," you tell the two before walking off.

"You don't have to walk me back," you tell Ivan's body guard. He stayed silent as you both got into the elevator.

"If it's alright, can I ask to see your face?" You asked him. "See who my savior was from letting me fall on my face?"

He stayed silent as he stared at you. You let out a small sigh before the elevator doors opened. You walked back to your room but stopped before you entered the key.

"Please? I'm curious to see who you are," you tell him.

The masked man stayed silent as you reached up to his mask. He quickly grabbed your wrist, making you jump a little in surprise.

"I cannot allow that," the masked man says.

"Of course. Sorry. Goodnight," you say, opening your room door. "And thank you. For saving me."

The Winter Soldier felt a little surprise as you said thank you for saving him. He wasn't a savior. He was a killer. But yet, you thanked him for saving you. He watched as you closed your door, leaving him alone to head back to his handler.

~~~~~

Six months had gone and you had forgotten about the body guard. And you haven't stepped foot back into the underground world.

You grabbed your breakfast sandwich as well as your coffee before heading out of the cafe. You walked along the sidewalk until you got to the stop light. Today felt like a calming day. The weather wasn't too bad or too warm. You looked around at the crowd before your eyes landed on a familiar figure.

Bucky felt the presence the moment you got close enough to see him. He turned around to see you standing by the corner. The woman from six months ago at the Continental Hotel. The moment your eyes met his, you knew that he was the body guard from before.

You turned away, heading to an alleyway where you hope he would follow you. And sure enough, he did.

"I know you," you tell him. "You're the body guard from the hotel."

"I'm not that man anymore," Bucky says.

"Mmm. Can I ask you this at least? Are you doing okay?" you asked him.

That was a first. Were you always this caring? Were you an assassin? Why were you at the Continental Hotel? Are you part of Hydra? So many questions ran through Bucky's mind.

"I'm okay."

"You don't look okay. Do you even have a place to stay?" You asked him.

"I'll be fine."

"Uh huh. Look, why don't you come back with me? You look lost," you tell him.

"You don't want to be close to me," Bucky warned.

"Try me," you challenged.

"Who are you with? Hydra?"

"Hydra? That Nazi organization that just crumbled? No. I'm not affiliated with any organization nor do I want to."

"Then why were you at that hotel?" Bucky questioned.

"I needed a place to stay for the night," you shrugged.

Bucky could tell you weren't lying. And based on your outfit which was a thin skirt and a thin blouse that complimented your figure, you couldn't have been hiding any big or major weapons.

"Look, I'm not going to attack you and I can feel that you're not going to attack me. All I want to do is help because I can see that you need it," you tell him.

"How can you tell?"

"I'm good at reading body language. I'm not going to hurt you," you say, taking a step forward to Bucky. "You can trust me."

"How do I know I can trust you?" Bucky asked.

You nodded at him- knowing that he was still on guard. You took out your small notepad in your purse along with a pen. You wrote down your address before handing it to him.

"Look, if you want, to show that I am friendly, here is my address. If you want to take up on my offer, you can. I'm not here to hurt you or hurt anyone. I already completed what I needed to do and I am just living my life," you tell him. Bucky took the small piece of paper before you walked away from him.

Two days later, Bucky showed up to your door. But before he came to you, he watched you. Making sure you weren't some secret Hydra spy that was trying to get him back. Instead, Bucky found you to be nothing but normal.

"If I asked for your help and you betray me, I won't hesitate in killing you," Bucky tells you.

"Same here," you tell him before letting him inside.

You tossed him some spare clothes that you bought just in case.

"Was prepared in case you would take up my offer. Here's some spare clothes. Go shower and we can talk," you tell him.

"You sure you're okay taking in a complete stranger?" He asked.

"Back then you seemed helpless in a way. I just want to help. Besides, call it even since you saved me from when I tripped," you tell him.

"I don't think it's smart for you to help someone like me," Bucky tells you.

"I'm a big girl, I can handle myself," you tell him.

Bucky got out of the shower as you were cooking dinner. You put a plate on the table for him and yourself before sitting down.

"I made some dinner if you're hungry," you offered.

"Thank you."

"It's good to know you eat. Last time I met you, you weren't allowed to eat with us. Felt kinda awkward just eating in front of you," you admitted.

"I wasn't allowed to even if I was able to join you."

"Why not? Were you some kind of puppet?" You asked.

"Yeah. I was."

You fell silent. You mentally kicked yourself for asking that.

"I'm sorry."

"It's okay. You didn't know. At least I hope you didn't know."

"Why don't we start over? I'm Y/n. Y/n Wick," you introduced yourself.

"Bucky."

"No last name?"

"I can't remember."

You stared at him confused.

"What did they do to you?" You asked. Bucky looked over at you. You can see the sadness in his eyes.

"A lot."

"If you want, I can help you when you're ready to open up," you offered.

"Thank you."

~~~~~

“I knew him,” Bucky tells you as he stared at the screen. You looked over to see Captain America on the screen.

“Bucky, if you know him, then we should talk to him. He has the resources that can help you,” you tell him.

It’s been a month since Bucky came to you for help. And during that time, you did what you can to help him remember. It was a slow process but he began to remember some minor things.

“I don’t think I can,” Bucky says.

“Do you want me to come with you?” You asked.

“Would you?” Bucky asked.

“Of course. But we should be prepared in case something goes wrong. Better to be prepared,” you said.

You walked into your room and opened your closet. You moved the fake wall away, revealing your hidden weapons. You grabbed some handguns and some knives before walking out.

“Come on. Let’s go talk to Steve,” you said.

“And if he asks me to stay with him and the Avengers?” Bucky asked.

“You should. Like I said, they can help you better than I can,” you tell him.

“But I want you with me. I can’t do this without you. You’re a great fighter. I’ve seen you before,” Bucky tells you.

“I’m not really interested in affiliating myself with an organization. I already told you this,” you remind him.

“Please. I need you,” Bucky said, holding your hand with his left. You stared at your hands. This was the first he’s ever held you with his metal arm.

“Fine. I’ll stay with you.”

You arrived to the Avengers Tower with Bucky. Bucky had told the receptionist to let Steve know that Bucky was here for him. Which didn’t take long for Steve to come down with some backup.

“Bucky?” Steve asked.

“It’s me. I’m not The Winter Soldier anymore,” Bucky tells him. “I came for help.”

“And her?” Steve asked looking at you. You gave a little wave as you leaned against the front desk.

“She stays with me. She convinced me to come here,” Bucky said.

“Civilian?” Steve asked.

“Not exactly,” you answered.

“Who are you?” Natasha asked.

“Y/n Wick,” you answered.

The last name instantly hit Natasha. But it seemed that it didn't phase Bucky, which meant he didn't know who your father was.

“Y/n said you would be able to help me,” Bucky tells Steve.

“Of course. I’m here with you buddy. Till the end of the line,” Steve said. Bucky looked at you before reaching his hand out to you. You took his hand before you both followed Steve, Natasha, and Sam to the elevator.

“Does he know about you?” Natasha asked you.

“Not fully,” you explained.

“Will you tell him?”

“When the timings right,” you shrugged.

[pomegranatelifethis]

A Slice of Chaos

The Hall of Justice loomed like a futuristic fortress, all sleek metal and glowing holograms. You, however, were sprawled across a plush couch in the lounge, a bag of Doritos propped on your stomach, crumbs dusting your hoodie. At sixteen, you were the Justice League’s resident wildcard—a high school sophomore with powers you barely understood and a work ethic that could generously be described as “nonexistent.”

“Shouldn’t you be in the training room?” Diana’s voice cut through the crunch of your snack. Wonder Woman stood in the doorway, arms crossed, her lasso glinting at her hip. She was all regal poise, the kind of woman who could probably bench press a tank and still look flawless.

You grinned, popping another chip in your mouth. “Training’s overrated, Di. Besides, I’m strategizing.” You gestured vaguely at the empty soda can on the coffee table. “Hydration plan, see?”

Her lips twitched, fighting a smile. “You’re incorrigible.”

“Love you too!” you called as she shook her head and walked off. You were pretty sure Diana had a soft spot for you, even if you drove her up the wall. Most of the League did. It was your charm—cute, sweet, and just naughty enough to keep things interesting.

The lounge was your sanctuary, a place to dodge Batman’s endless drills or Superman’s earnest pep talks. You were a meta, discovered a year ago when you accidentally levitated your entire math class during a particularly boring lecture. The League scooped you up, promising to train you to control your telekinesis. Problem was, training was *hard*, and you’d rather be napping or raiding the League’s industrial-sized fridge.

A shadow fell over you. “Y/N.” Batman’s gravelly voice was unmistakable, like someone gargling asphalt. You didn’t even look up, just waved a Dorito in his general direction.

“Hey, Bats. Want one? Cool Ranch, your fave.”

He didn’t take the bait. He never did. “You skipped combat training. Again.”

You propped yourself up on your elbows, giving him your best puppy-dog eyes. “I was gonna go, I swear, but then I remembered I had this super important… uh, snack inventory to do.”

His cowl didn’t budge, but you could *feel* the exasperation radiating off him. “Your powers are raw. Uncontrolled. You’re a liability until you master them.”

“Liability’s a strong word,” you said, licking cheese dust off your fingers. “I prefer ‘chaotic asset.’ Sounds cooler.”

“Get to the training room. Now.”

You groaned, flopping back dramatically. “Fiiiine. But if I pull a muscle, I’m blaming you.”

💢💢

The training room was a high-tech nightmare—holographic drones, shifting obstacle courses, and enough sensors to make you feel like a lab rat. Flash was there, zipping around like a caffeinated hummingbird, while Green Lantern floated above, smirking as he conjured a glowing green punching bag.

“Look who decided to show up!” Barry called, skidding to a stop beside you. His red suit practically vibrated with energy. “Thought you were gonna ditch again.”

“Blame Bats,” you muttered, tying your messy ponytail tighter. “He’s got a sixth sense for my laziness.”

Hal landed, dismissing his construct. “Kid, you’re gonna give Bruce an aneurysm one day. And I’m gonna laugh.”

You stuck out your tongue. “Rude. I’m a delight.”

The session was brutal. You were supposed to levitate a series of weighted spheres while dodging drones, but your focus was shot. One sphere wobbled, then crashed into a wall, setting off a blaring alarm. You winced, shooting Barry a sheepish grin as he zipped over.

“Maybe try *not* breaking the equipment?” he teased, ruffling your hair.

“I’m a work in progress!” you shot back, but you couldn’t help laughing. Barry was like the cool older brother you never had, always quick with a joke or a snack run.

After an hour, you were sweaty, grumpy, and ready to bolt. “This is child abuse,” you declared, collapsing onto a bench. “I’m reporting you all to… someone.”

Clark appeared, all earnest blue eyes and farm-boy charm. “You did better than last time,” he said, handing you a water bottle. “You just need to focus.”

You took the bottle, eyeing him suspiciously. “Are you *always* this wholesome? It’s unnatural.”

He chuckled, unfazed. “Eat something substantial after this, okay? I saw you with those chips earlier.”

“Snitch,” you muttered, but your stomach growled, betraying you. Food was your love language. Pizza, tacos, ice cream—you didn’t discriminate. The League’s kitchen was your personal heaven, especially since Alfred occasionally dropped off trays of his legendary cookies.

💢💢

Later, you were back in the lounge, this time with a plate of leftover lasagna you’d sweet-talked Cyborg into reheating. Victor was a softie under all that tech, and you knew exactly how to work your charm.

“You’re gonna eat us out of house and home,” he said, but there was no heat in it. He was tinkering with some gadget, his cybernetic eye glowing faintly.

“Worth it,” you mumbled through a mouthful. “This is, like, Michelin-star level.”

A blur of motion, and Barry was beside you, snagging a forkful of your lasagna. “Yo, this is good! Vic, you holding out on me?”

“Get your own!” you swatted at him, but you were laughing. Moments like this—goofing off with the League, no world-ending crises—made the whole “hero-in-training” thing bearable.

Until the alarm blared.

“Unknown energy signature detected in Metropolis,” J’onn’s calm voice echoed over the intercom. “All available members, report to the briefing room.”

You groaned, sinking deeper into the couch. “Can’t the bad guys take a day off?”

Diana appeared, already in mission mode. “Y/N, you’re with us. Observation only.”

You perked up. A mission? No training, just watching the League be badass? “Sweet! I’m in.”

Batman’s glare said he didn’t agree, but you were already bouncing after Diana, lasagna forgotten. Sure, you were lazy, maybe a little too fond of snacks, but you were part of this team—chaos and all. And who knew? Maybe you’d accidentally save the day.

Or at least snag some post-mission tacos.

The briefing room buzzed with tension, but you were already daydreaming about the food truck you’d hit up later. Whatever this mission was, you’d survive it. You always did—with a smile, a quip, and a bag of chips in hand.

[warmblanketwhump]

the waiting

The first day in the little cabin wasn’t bad. They’d found shelter from the elements, after all, and a safe place to wait out the storm.

The second day, cabin fever set in—there wasn’t much to do in the one-room cabin besides feed the fire, pace, and huddle together.

The third day was much of the same.

The fourth day when the mood began to shift.

It began when they all awoke to the wind still howling like a freight train. If anything, it sounded louder than it had the past few days, whistling through any crack it could find and frosting over the windowpanes.

“I can barely hear myself think,” A grumbles as they all crowd near the fireplace. “I swear I barely got more than an hour of sleep with that racket.”

“Well the rest of us have to hear you grumble, and I can still hear that loud and clear,” D retorts.

“If we get stuck here, we’re eating D first,” A announces to no one in particular.

“Hey, now. Quit it, you two,” B interjects. “Go outside, get some fuel, and don’t come back to the fire until you can both be nice.”

The two keep grumbling, but dutifully pull on their extra winter clothes to go outside and get firewood. As much as it’s a tool to cool off their bickering, they all know that it’s essential to keep the small fireplace burning to try and heat the meager space. The cabin is still drafty, however, with wind that whistles through the cracks and blows ice crystals across the floor.

The storm’s got to stop soon, B wonders, chewing their bottom lip and trying to calculate how many days of rations are left, how many more days they could make it last if they cut them in half—

B’s jolted out of their swirling thoughts with C bumping into them, inching closer. B bites back the urge to snap at them, seeing as how they just chastised A and D for doing the same thing. But they just haven’t been able to have any space the past few days, and C’s been unusually clingy and close at hand since yesterday. But they can’t stop their body from flinching at the touch, and C notices.

“Sorry….” C mumbles, shrinking back, and B feels the guilt like a punch in the stomach. “I just….”

B sighs, centering their off-kilter mood, and turns back to C. “It’s fine. Just a little cabin fever on my end. What is it?”

C wraps the thick wool blanket tighter around their shoulders, and B takes in how pale they look, the faint bruises of shadows smudged under their eyes. “It’s just…you know I went out to get water yesterday, and I….well….I didn’t mean to…”

“C, what is it?” B’s thin patience is beginning to fray further

“I fell in.”

“The snow?”

“The river.”

The words don’t immediately register with B at first. “Wait. You were supposed to get the snow for water—“

“It was only a few steps farther than the snowbank and I wanted us to have clean water, and I thought I knew where the edge was but it was hard to see in the snow and I slipped. It was only to my waist, and I got out and came back so fast—you didn’t even notice—“

“C—“

“And I changed my socks but you know I only have the one thick pair of pants, and they were still kinda damp no matter how much I tried to dry them off with the towel or how long I sat by the fire. And then I woke up this morning—“

“C. Tell me what’s wrong.” Yet B already has a sinking feeling they know.

“I can’t get warm,” C whimpers, with a weak cough. “I’m all shivery inside, no matter how long I sit by the fire, and my legs and feet are freezing, and I just thought if I could get closer to body heat—“

“C, just….” B squeezes their eyes shut and rubs their forehead, trying to gain their bearings after multiple nights of not enough sleep. “Just let me get things straight. You fell in the creek yesterday, didn’t dry off fully and wore damp clothes to sleep. And now you’re feeling chilled. Is that right?”

C nods miserably. “And it’s cold in here.”

B sighs. It wouldn’t be the first time C’s lack of foresight had gotten them in trouble. But one look at their small, shivering frame, and B knows they don’t have the heart to chastise them further.

“Fine. Come closer, then. We’ll share body heat.” B may be craving their own personal space, but they’re not leaving poor C to freeze. C wastes no time in wriggling closer to B, who wraps their arms around them and shifts them so their back is flat against B’s chest. “There. All snug.”

“Ugh, you’re so warm.” C presses closer and B can feel the fine tremors that ripple through C’s spine and instinctively hugs them tighter.

C shouldn’t have let themselves stay wet for so long. If they were in damp clothes for a whole night…

B shakes their head and clears the thoughts from their head, just as A and D tumble back in with arms full of firewood. With a little time, C would warm up. The storm would stop, and they’d resume their trek back to the city.

Things would be fine.

———————-

The fifth day is when B realizes they’re in trouble.

The bucket of ice—rethawed snow only after C’s confession—had been melted the night before for drinking, but in the morning there’s a layer of ice across the top of the bucket that A has to hit three times before it cracks. The fire had burnt down to embers overnight, and B knew they weren’t imagining things when they woke up—the air was getting colder. They’d all slept much closer to each other than they had the night before.

D’s able to stir up a flame, and the weary travelers silently resume their positions close to the fire. Gone is the concept of personal space—they all press as close together as possible to stay warm.

B can tell the relentless cold is getting to all of them. The first few days, D had been restlessly moving around the cabin, poking around cupboards and fiddling with their gear. Now, they barely move from the hearth, shaking hands extended over the weak heat of the fire or hugging themselves tightly.

A stayed hunched over in the smallest ball possible, yet never stopped moving— weakly chafing their blanketed arms, rubbing their legs, and rocking back and forth as if they could generate a spark to warm their bones.

They knew C felt it too, and worse—they’d clung to B all night, alternately mumbling nonsense and crying because they felt so cold. A couple hours before dawn, B realized they didn’t feel cold—and it was because of the feverish body practically glued to their own. Now, in the pale morning light, they could see the damp sheen of sweat on C’s forehead.

Another howl of wind buffets the side of the cabin, and D shudders, tucking their warmed hands under their arms. “You’re sure there aren’t any more blankets?”

“D, you’ve asked three times. These are all we could find.” A scoots over to D and holds up an open arm, inviting them closer. “If I hug you, will you shut up?”

“As long as you stop fidgeting.”

“I’m trying to keep warm.” The bickering’s lost some of the venom, however, and the two abandon their squabbling for the promise of more shared body heat.

B pulls out a ration packet of biscuits, distributing a biscuit each, then splitting their own and offering their halves to A and D. A reaches longingly for the extra ration, but D tries to refuse.“B, we can’t take—“

“It’s okay. I’ll eat whatever C doesn’t manage.” B knows they should keep their strength up, but both A and D’s faces look so gaunt in the dim firelight. Truthfully, the rising anxiety over the situation wipes away any appetite B should have, and it doesn’t feel right to force themselves to eat when A and D are clearly so hungry.

C weakly nibbles away a quarter of the biscuit before they turn away, burying their face back in the folds of the blanket. B tries to eat the rest of C’s biscuit slowly, but the biscuit is gone in under a minute.

————————-

the sixth day brings much of the same.

“How is C?” A’s voice is quiet. D’s found a few loose bricks in the hearth, and they’re trying to figure out a way to heat them so they can hold them for warmth.

“Hanging in there—their fever’s about the same, I reckon.” B shifts positions, C’s body limp in their arms. “How are you?”

A tries to shrug nonchalantly, but B can see the hunch of their shoulders, the continuous shivers that wrack their frame. “Cold. All I think about is how much closer I can get to the fire, or how much bigger we can build it, or when we get to eat our next ration, or how I’m going to practically boil myself in a hot bath when I get home.”

B laughs hollowly—they share the sentiment, but they quickly silence themselves when they see A’s eyes shining with tears in the firelight.

“B, what if this storm keeps up?” A’s whisper is panicked. “We need warmth. Food. C needs a doctor. We can’t hold on much longer like this.”

“Yes, we can. We’ll hold on for just as long as we need to.” B feels the lie slip from their tongue before they can contradict it with the truth: they can’t hold on much longer.

————————-

Day seven, they break down most of the furniture and cupboards to use in the fire. C wakes once, drinks one cup of water, and passes out.

Day eight, they each split one ration packet. The fire is reduced to a small flame to preserve the wood for as long as they can. B realizes they can’t remember the last time they weren’t shivering.

Day nine, they split one ration cracker. the fire dies down to embers, and they’re all too cold to sleep. in the darkness, they cling to one another, a miserable, shivering mass of bodies, blankets pulled taught around their thinning frames. the only sound is the hollow wind outside and the incessant chatter of A’s teeth.

they all wonder if it’s their last night.

————————-

Day ten, a local hunter treks up the mountain to see how his cabin had fared—and finds four frozen, exhausted, half-starved strangers who are endlessly grateful to see him.